A Stray Jackal
by LittleBlackJackal
Summary: The Attack in Mistral does not go unnoticed, something stirs unrest in the kingdom. But as Qrow and Ozpin have to pull in their trump card, so does Salem. Two brothers on two sides of the field meet once again in their brief lives.
1. Marked

Eight weeks ago, somewhere in the rainforests of Mistral….

A soft wind sifted through the woods, its caress was like fingers grazing over the mountainside. Its secrets were scattered among the leaves as they fell slowly in that early autumn afternoon. Careful whispers echoed through the forests below, whispers of battle tactics and stratagems, talk of supply routes, patrols in the area, manpower. There was a small camp at the foot of the mountain with its two tents loaded with supplies and ammunition, and the fire burned bright near the cool shade of a large willow tree. And atop its sturdy branches sat Newt, a charming, delightful young woman with bright amber hair and dazzling emerald eyes.

She had a pale complexion paired with smooth brown scales covering her face and arms which was probably why most humans detested her. It wasn't uncommon for people to shower her with rocks and stones whenever she finds herself wandering around human territories like they were trying to scare off a wild animal. When she was young, she tried covering it all up with a brown jacket and heavy make-up. It didn't do much but it never did bother her much anyway. Besides, all of those were but a distant memory to her.

Her brother Tuko, a stern man with darker-brown hair and green eyes, took her under his wing. Since then, they have found refuge in the arms of the White Fang who have since protected them from vicious bigots and prejudices. Still, she found herself unhappy within the organization. As protected as they were, she never imagined the cost of her life would be countless others.

Now, she just sits upon the embracing branches of the willow tree as she wanders the deepest, most brilliant corners of her mind and dreaming of the clear blue skies above the clearer and bluer beaches of Menagerie, with its crystal sands and tropical forests as green as Mistral's. She never did have a taste of the land her father and mother grew up on, Tuko and her were born in Windpath and were shunned ever since. So she loses herself again in thoughts and tales. Somewhere she can call home.

"Newt!" a voice calls from below and startles her awake for a moment. She looks below and sees her brother already wearing his mask and holding the high-powered Atlesian assault rifle close to his chest as if it was his hugging pillow. "We're heading out, I'm leaving you with Bruno and Aries," he says swiftly, nothing more than a heads-up.  
"Okay," she agrees weakly, knowing full well what they're about to do but that's the last image she'll want to pester her mind with. "Just be back, okay?" she reminds him, too.  
But he doesn't even glance , his eyes stay forward, "Move out!" he roars with such ferocity that the eight-man squadron behind him jumps up from their posts, arms themselves with heavy assault rifles, and marches deep into the forest. Then he turns around, "Aries, Bruno, get over here!" he shouts out into the sky like the second roaring trumpet and two guys sitting by the campfire hear his call.

First stands a tall, grey-haired man with wide wolf ears peeking out of his head. He moves slow yet calm, he takes his rifle and steadily marches his way to Tuko's side. This was Aries, a large bulk of man and wolf, a hardened veteran of the White Fang that lived only to serve, never to be served. The other one gets up later than him and with a fresh cigarette butt still smoking between his lips. His name is Bruno, haggard looking man with coal black hair covering his eyes and makes him stumble over grassy ground, recovering only by breaking his fall with the butt of the assault rifle. He tries to rush in for duty and meet Tuko's heavy sigh but then he remembers the radio set by the campfire and again he fumbles around again to come back for it. Sadly, Tuko can only roll his eyes so far up his head before the nerves detach from his brain.

As the two stand before him, Tuko eyes the shivering Bruno whose rifle is jammed down the ground on his right while the radio set is shaking restlessly on his left. "Aye, sir?" they offer themselves with a chant in unison to the whims of the Pack leader.  
"Right," he eyes him some more, "Listen, a Schnee company caravan will be arriving shortly by the main road. Taking the men and we'll be relieving them of the cargo as per the order of Adam Taurus," he says that with a rare light smile on his face. "Hold onto that set like it was the girl you were gunning down the entire night ever since you stepped inside the dance club." He gives the radio set a sharp point but saves a stiff face just for the klutz who gulps down a tongue full of saliva, not knowing whether to answer back or listen still. "If anybody happens to walk down this area, I don't care who they are, you call me. If this location is in anyway compromised, you call me," he points back to his chest firmly. "And if any, and this is important," he says with both eyebrows raised and it widens Bruno's already anxious eyes. "If anyone makes contact, Adam, Sienna, or anyone from Clan Jackal," his command turns to a whisper in front of the soldier's shaking gaze, " _You. Call. Me._ "

"Aye sir," he replies softly, lost in translation. Tuko gives them a frowned nod and turns around once more, heading into the forest to catch up with his men.

"Bye, Tuko!" Newt waves giddily at him from her willow branch, bidding him another farewell. And again he shrugs it off his shoulders like dust blown off the mountainside. And she dives down a well of sorrow and dying memories. He's change, that brother of hers. He always was stern and headstrong when they were young but now he's grown distant and cold.

She stares below once again into the endless green horizon, disheartened. There isn't much else she can do except stare. A gaping hole opens up on her chest where her brother was before. It was as if her older brother has passed away and was replaced by this mechanical, blank killing machine after he was made and marked by Clan Jackal, a haunting name in the cesspits of her memory. And just like the weeping willow she had chosen to perch on, a tear began to roll down her scaled cheek and her gaze started to blur. She was alone in this camp, no one understood her, no one dared understand her. "The Pack stays together, from the cub's first tooth to the wolf's last fang, the Pack stays together" the men feared those words. It was an old Jackal saying, an oath taken by those who were made. Even she has heard of that proverb but she never did know what it was about. But more importantly, she never knew why it made her feel so alone. No one by her side, no one to talk to, no one seeing the loud creeping silence.

No one except the man hidden atop the mountain cliffs, observing them through the lenses of his binoculars and the scope of his rifle.

It had been weeks since Devin Jackal begun tracking the outpost in the middle of the country's heavy forests. Countless hours spent wandering around the diseased, festering belly of Mistral's underworld, calling in favors, knocking out whoever's teeth needed knocking just to get here. And then came days of hovering around the area, mapping out patrol routes, guard patterns, knowing everything there is to know. Just how he likes it.

His black long coat is starting to pick dust as the wind grows bolder, scattering leaves into the red autumn sky. His white shirt beneath is already blackened from the dirt. His black beanie cap sways loosely with the tempting air. He takes his eye off the scope for a moment and looks through the binoculars. His lips fiddling with the cigarette between them, switching it from one side to the other. Then he holds onto it as he inhales that long whiff of smoke, clarity in the nicotine. Two people stand beneath the willow tree, one towering over the other. They hold their rifles firm, below the chest and ready to aim and fire. Devin furls his brows, thinking, and then he looks back down the scope of his rifle to get a closer view. _One, two_ , he mouths to himself before he exhales the grey cloud from his lungs.

But with clarity comes doubt of the picture before him. He saw a party leave a few moments ago, trudging through the thicker part of the forest. It puts his mind to unrest, uncertain whether to pull the trigger or not. He takes his eyes off the lenses and gazes at the distance. He takes one last breath of his stick and then singes out its ember on the cold ground. The breath of fresh air was a change, savoring the cool taste of oxygen down his coal black throat. His eyes close, his mind calms, and he takes off his cap and lets his sharp jackal ears at play.

He listens, a gentle breeze flows like a melody picking up the beat. Behind him, he hears the rustling of leaves. A lone squirrel pops out of the bushes with its paws full of fallen nuts, it sniffs the air for scents it doesn't know and scents it fears. Its tiny head twitches left and right, wary of the unforgiving land; and then it runs off into the trees. He hears its claws scratching off bark as it scurries to the safe branches above. In the farther distance, he hears the faint sound of footsteps. Heavy ones, armored feet carrying armored men marching into position. He tilts his head softly to the west, cautious and searching. A unit trekked on soil, like the critter, they tread carefully. But then the footsteps grow louder yet lighter. No longer upon untouched earth, now they have found unfinished asphalt and carved ground.

He snaps back into his rifle, eyes down the scope and locked on the two guards. His finger slowly reaches for the trigger, the wind brushes by his ears and he feels it grow stronger. Back to the crosshairs, the towering man is still headstrong but his partner has grown careless, his rifle is resting on the side, the muzzle kissing the ground. He has found his target. He tilts the rifle slightly upwards, opens his other eye to see the horizon once again, his ears twitch once more to feel the strength of the wind's sway.

Then he pulled the trigger, the blast echoed across the forest, and Aries' head snapped backwards for a moment before he fell dead by the willow tree.

"Oh my god, oh my god!" stutters Bruno, losing words by the minute. His hands slither to cover his mouth, his cheeks are drenched in brain matter. Bone fragments scatter below his shivering knees as he loses his grip on the rifle.

Newt watches from the top, she too is trembling in fear. The shot is still resonating in her ears like wind chimes in a storm. Her hands grip hard on the sturdy bark, nails digging hard into the wood. Her pupils dilate rapidly as she stares at the dead man below her and at her shivering teammate fumbling around with the radio set, trying so desperately to put the phone on his ear and call for back up. The telephone felt like it was about to jump away from Bruno's hands as he struggled to put it close to his temple. The piece finally touching his ear and he looks at her for a moment. His finger taps his pursed lips and shushes her from below. She nods nervously and he begins to dial.

But then another shot was fired from the distance and the caliber blew a hole through Bruno's head and the telephone burst to pieces.

Newt whimpers in despair as Bruno staggers for a moment before falling to his knees and then lying lifeless on the cold ground. Her grasp on the branch tightens, fingers grip the willow tree stiff. She raises her perched legs up and holds them close to her chest, hoping that weeping leaves are enough to hide her from sight.

At first it was silence. Dreadful, deafening silence encompassing the forest. The kind you hear before monsters come out of the shadows. Calm lingers before the storm. So she closes her eyes and covers her ears, wishing the nightmare away. Something rustles in the bushes, light footsteps yet running amok on the green grass. Twigs snapping and branches being shoved away, and out of it all comes Devin Jackal, rifle at the ready, and eyes down the scope.

Devin scours the area, looking for more, expecting no less. He treads carefully towards the two bodies, two clean shots and two clean kills. It doesn't settle down the ever wary jackal, though. Acting against time is an exercise in futility and he can't act without certainty. He snaps his aim to the camp, light feet on hard ground. Closer to the willow tree he goes, listening to the deafening whispers of the wind. Trying to peek inside from afar, only empty tents and stacks of boxes reveal themselves. His grip tightens as a feeling of shooting someone begins gnawing at the back of his head. His finger slides to the trigger, the butt presses hard against his shoulder. He turns and she opens her eyes.

And she found herself on the other end of his rifle.

"Ma'am, come down from there," forward in his thoughts, not a second to lose. But she remains frozen stiff in her branch, kissed by winter's dead lips. Her head shakes slowly, mustering whatever courage she has left to decline death in his black coat. But he notices her long brown jacket and her absent White Fang overalls, no mask, no shroud. And he tries again, calmer this time, "It's okay, you won't be hurt."  
"How do I know that?" she suddenly snaps, a tick of adrenaline, long enough to bargain, "How do I know you won't kill me once I come down?"  
"Ma'am, I'm a horrible fortune-teller but I'm a pretty good marksman and I think I can shoot you as easily from up there as I can down here," she flinches and he wins. He notices it in an instant, "Now, come down here."

She wants to relent but there's nothing to fall back on. Legs and arms crawl on the sturdy wood, shivering from anxiety. Fingers dig deep on the bark, descending as slowly as she can. Making it last an eternity but when you already feel the bullet enter your jaw and pass through you head, eternity's but a moment. And before she knows it, her feet touch the ground and she faces the barrel.

"Lie down on your stomach and put your hands behind your back," he orders her like an officer would, pointing with the rifle. She complies and kneels down as calmly and quickly as she can. Her face slowly kisses the grass.

"Now," he begins strapping his rifle back, "I'm gonna level with you, once I'm done here, I'll take you to the next village and they'll turn you in for minor demeanor and civil disobedience." The idea sparks interest but sounds too good for her. "Should just get you a warning and be on your way, if not don't worry I'll stay long enough to make sure." She nods and turns her head only to see him moving into her side  
"What are you doing?" she manages to utter in her situation.  
"I just need to check if you're marked," he says as he opens his jacket and unclips the pistol strap.  
"Wait, what was that?" she exclaims and starts to hyperventilate. But she starts to stand up in her panic but is immediately forced down by his hand on the back of her head. "Please don't," she worries already feeling the bullet at her the back of her head.  
"I'm not, don't worry," his voice cool and certain, every word is meant and every action is intended.  
She slows down her breathing, settling down her chaotic mind, cleaning it from thrashing thoughts. She closes her eyes, a faint whisper tells her to trust him and trust him she does as one hand pulls down the collar of her jacket and his other hand clicks a switch on his pistol and transforms it into a dagger. She hears the blade flip to a point and awaits the smooth steel. But there was none, nothing grazes her skin but she does hear flesh being cut as Devin slides the tip across his forearm, blood begins to seep from the wound and when there was enough, he drives the dagger on the ground and clasps his hand onto the bleeding wound. His fingers sift through her hair, a soft touch running across her scalp and into her neck, then soaking in the red like a sponge. And then his caress slides down the back of her head, nails dig lightly into her skin and wrap around her neck like moss creeping on the walls, and then he paints it a deep crimson.

"What the hell?" she squirms as her neck is now covered in blood.  
"Hang on," he presses her back down, just looking at her neck.  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
"Checking if you're marked."  
"I told you I'm not 'Marked'," she rebuts but stays still with great frustration.  
"We'll see," he jeers as he gently pushes her down to the ground. She tries to relent even further, her patience is thrown out the window but he's still there, observing, waiting.

And then backs up, he opens his coat and puts his pistol back into holster and straps it tight. She hears the snap of the clip and her storms calm down. Unknown on what is to come next but already feeling the gun at the back of her head, her neck smeared with gunpowder and drenched in blood. But Devin had a different idea. He pulls her back up from the collar and she is lifted suddenly in the air and stares up at his eyes.

Because he found no mark, nothing familiar, just pale skin mixing with the thick crimson. "Welp, seems you're clear," he assures her in a flash and pulls her up by the collar. "Name's Devin by the way," a tired smile on his face.  
"Newt," an uncertain one on hers as she stands up by his hand. The confusion could not be matched and she was left speechless by that. She could only gaze at him as she completed the puzzle. But raised eyebrows cannot give her an answer, and Devin just stands there glancing over the horizon, calm and unburdened. "What do you mean? What just happened" she breaks the ice.  
"Means, I'm proceeding as planned, I'll take you to the next village after I get something from one of those tents right there," he points by the campfire, "a manifest containing patrol routes and supply run schedules."  
But her brother crosses her mind and her eyes look away, "Can't you just let me stay here? I promise I won't tell."  
He smiles at her sadly, unable to let her go, "I can't, the squadron comes and they find out you're the only one left alive? Those're gonna raise some questions."  
"My brother will protect me," she says proudly.  
"Doubt your brother can protect you from the higher ups," his sad smile, a waning crescent under the red sky.

And she backs down, knowing who those are. Cruel people, bad people that impale heads on pikes and puts children to the axe. People her brother can't contest, "Taking you to the village, you have to distant yourself from these people," his hand rests on her shoulders, solemn and sympathizing.  
She knows he's right but still she remains reluctant. Yet, his touch was warmer than her brother's and she looks him back in the eye and gives a hesitant nod. "Okay."  
"I know some people there, I'll make sure you're taken care of," words as sweet as berries and she smiles at him again. Her hand find his and it feels warmer to know someone is trying to look out for you.

"Right," he starts, "Climb back up the tree, I won't take long then I'll come fetch you and we can reach the village by nightfall." She accepts and he gives her a boost, light as a feather.

Once she was perched up again, she pondered and reflected. Though she had felt protected and secured, she never could stomach the cost of her safety. A life of her brother butchering and robbing innocents was a life she could not stand. Even the imagining her brother out there right now, ambushing that unsuspecting caravan was a strain on her soul. Perhaps, it was time to let go of him.

Devin Jackal walks inside the tent, a cool breeze sneaks through the covers. Inside he finds a small desk with cardboard boxes full of paperwork below. Beside it is a worn out hammock with combat boots underneath. He rests his rifle by the desk then takes one box and throws it into the hammock, searching through the its folders, only vague names of low rank White Fang members are in it, too few and irrelevant to continue further.

Discarded, he grabs another one and flings the lid off without a care, revealing the large stack of folders. They still had names but all of them were unfamiliar to him. None native to Menagerie, they were closer to those of Mistral. "Humans," he mutters under his breath as he sifts through each one as if convincing himself. Yet, the longer his fingers fiddled through the documents, the more he began to notice the attention to detail each file contained. Home addresses, spouses, children, siblings, academy graduated, semblance, rank, "Huntsmen Dossiers." His tiny epiphany is followed by a grim conclusion and he puts a couple dossiers to the side as he doesn't stop there.

He digs through the next one and almost cries for joy. "Here we go," he exclaims as Faunus names are written before him in time tables. Letters detailing patrol routes, men counts, supply runs, all stacked in the same box. Puts a smile to his face, like reading a good book and he begins folding them and pocketing them inside his coat.

Outside, Newt contemplates leaving. Her brother is her world but her world is turning to hell. The thought of parting with him is too heavy to bear yet the thought of turning into him is too repulsive to stomach. Up on the tree, she buries her face in her palms, hiding away the tears. But footsteps began approaching from afar and before she could turn and look, two men were already aiming their rifles at her.

She stutters and backs up as they stand there menacingly. But Tuko and the rest of the squadron marches from behind, her brother presses a finger on his lips, "Stay here and wait," the order is given yet before it can be questioned, the men line up in position by the campfire. Guns aim down the tent, fingers reach for the triggers, Tuko walks to the end of the line. His mercy's gone with wind, he extends his hand and starts the count.

 _One_

"Tuko, wait!" Newt jumps down from her branch and runs to her estranged brother.

 _Two_

"Tuko!" her feet only gets her so far.

 _Three_

A storm of bullets rain on the single tent, tearing through fabric and wood. Steel beams break as they're chipped off bit by bit every time the hammer on those rifles strike down. The ground behind erupt from stray lead, chairs fall down as the squadron goes wild. Laughing in the wind, making love with the trigger. And Newt crumbles down inside. Watching the brother she never wanted to see. Shattering behind him, knees weaken down.

She hides in her arms, burying her ears to drown out the noise. She can almost hear flesh tearing with every caliber, Devin drowning in his own blood. If only her scream was louder than the gunfire. But in cowering, the shooting ends. The squadron is smiling, taking ease. The muzzles of their rifles smoking from the heat, fresh from the kill. The rush is starting to die down, they look at each other satisfied with their handiwork. Some feel dizzy, some want to laugh but Tuko just gives the hole-ridden tent his coldest glare.

It doesn't feel right. "Too easy," he says under his breath. Green eyes narrow down on the gunned down tent. A fire started to spread, rations and supplies began to burn. But beneath the burning wood and singed fabric, he cannot find a body. And on their side, a cloth unfolded, a single step emerges onto the grassy ground. They all look to the left as Devin Jackal exits the other tent, biting the end of the pen as holds it in one hand and reads a clipboard manifest on the other, lowly humming to a pop country song stuck in his head. But he stops in his tracks and finds the squadron staring back at him, frozen in place.

Heavy breathing, the wind grows, Devin bites down hard on the pen, wide eyes meeting wider ones armed with rifles. And then he strikes fast, throwing the pen like a dagger and claiming an eye from one soldier. They all turn at him fast but he was faster, a quick draw to his pistol on the side and he immediately fires two shots on men at the middle, both bullets find their heads and they fall down like flies.

The next man finds him in his sights but the little jackal pushes his grip with his forearm and shoves the rifle away from his face. He drives his shoulder right into the man's solar plexus and pushes him backwards, into the squad. The others opened fire on him but he hid behind the faunus' staggering body and caliber after caliber plunged down bloody holes on him.

Devin evades gunfire before he pushes the corpse onto the next soldier, pinning him down with its weight. The others hesitate, the light-footed jackal shifts his pistol into a dagger and jumps high as he drives it into another soldier's eye. He then grasps him by the shoulders and tumbles down and flips the dead man over, launching him to the rest of the squad. A moment to shield him from their sights, a second to shift his dagger again and fire two more shots on the frantic men. One bursts a skull like a balloon and another finds a lung but Devin gives them no time and fires a few more rounds at him, no inch to breathe, one instant double tap. Then he sits back up and executes the last one that was pinned down.

He rolls to the side without another thought, keeping the blood flowing, adrenaline rushing as shots are fired in his direction. None finding their mark. Tuko misses and runs to hide behind a nearby tree, unrelenting but thinking. Devin finds only bushes and lies down as low as he can. He crawls through the prickly grass and settles behind a sturdy tree. His jackal ears free in the wind, listening, searching.

Tuko reloads his rifle, he treads lightly, as quiet as possible. He saw Devin slip behind the tree on the other side earlier but hasn't seen him come out yet. Hearts begin to race, thumping like a beating drum in his chest. He keeps his hands steady, ready to pull the trigger.

Devin holds his pistol close to his chest, he heard him sneak into the tree during the fray. Managing to slither out of the chaos. But he knows just as Tuko does that they're both just waiting and waiting. For someone to snap up and fire, to trip and fall, to throw away their shot. Waiting.

Tuko breathes deeply, reminding himself _This is why you were Made_.

Devin presses his forehead against the metal, its cold embrace he has felt many times before.

Tuko cocks the rifle one last time.

Devin pulls the hammer down.

And then the wind carries the whispers in the forest, silent secrets.

Tuko stands and keeps himself low, running to the campfire and aiming down the rifle. Devin holds his gun high above his chest, eyes locked on the fore sight, shoulders firm and ready for the recoil. Both men rush down the middle, both men had each other in his sights—

Both men fired their shots and both men fell.

Three clacks came out of Tuko's rifle, each bullet found their way to Devin's chest, taking him out. He staggered with each hit, each lead heavier than the last as he fell to the ground unconscious. Tuko took two in his abdomen, they ripped through light cloth and leather armor. Flesh bore holes and he felt the bullet ran amok inside him, probably tore through enough organs to keep him down.

Gasping for air, he crawls backwards. Blood's gushing down the wound, he presses hard but doesn't have the energy to. From the distance, he sees Newt shaking as she shatters before him. "TUKO!" she screams before running towards her brother, concerned to the brim. Tiny steps clattering closer, she kneels down and holds him on her arms. The warmest embrace of his life.  
"Newt?" he begins.  
"I'm here, Tuko," she replies in tears, remembering what matters most.  
"Newt," he repeats, the life beginning to fade.  
"Don't talk too much, I'll get help. We're gonna get you fixed up and running and—"

"Newt," a deep call, "Is he dead?"

Newt stutters, losing her train of thought. She looks at Devin and finds a lifeless body in the field. But she remembers her contemplating, her reflection, her chance to be free and the cost. And before she even tries to answer, a breath of life enters Devin and he takes one deep gasp of air before he snaps back up breathing heavily.

He unbuttons his shirt and reveals a bullet-proof vest with three bullets lodged in the Kevlar. He gasps for more air, pulling out the armor and giving more space for his chest to expand as he breathes. He recognizes Newt and the man he exchanged gunshots with. "Frigg," he mutters breathlessly.

He struggles to stand up, his chest bruised from the shots. Slowly loosening the vest before he takes it off completely and drag himself across the field. Newt stares at him, begging for help but Tuko keeps dead eyes locked onto his soul. "Devin, tell him," Newt pleads with tears in her eyes, "tell him we can still help him." Devin looks at her injured brother and he can already tell that Tuko made up his mind.

"Fuck you," Tuko grunts at him.  
"Tuko, please control yourself," Newt begins shaking him desperately to his senses. Devin shies his face away, he picks up his pistol and hides it in his coat pocket.  
"Fuck you," the words bear hate. Like daggers through the throat.  
"Tuko, just please calm down. We can still help him, right? I-it's just a gutshot, that would take days before he dies, right? Right, Devin?" her eyes clawing for the jackal's. But he blankly walks to them, feet dragged through bodies and skull fragments.  
Devin finds no joy in looking at her, "Yeah, he'll be begging for death first before it comes and gets him," he forces a smile to crack, small enough just to see her face glimmer with hope.  
But Tuko suddenly grabbed her arm was like a hawk's talon that found prey, "Don't you know who he is?!" he questioned in anger, Newt tried to pull back from fear. "What he's trying to do? He's Devin Jackal, the traitor. The deserter, the jackal the other jackals drove off," his words were like fire and brimstone. His hand bruises her and yet she was frozen still. And Devin watches him burn ablaze in fury and rage. Blinded by blood lust and duty, kicking harder and screaming louder the closer the little jackal came. But he soon comes to realize that he can't fake the smile any longer.

"Bend him over," he tells Newt who holds her brother up in her arms.  
"What?" her voice shaking and it quakes even harder as she sees Devin kneel down and drip his hand in a pool of blood.  
"Bend him over and pull down the collar behind his neck," hand clenches into a fist, blood dries in his palms.  
"No. No, he's not-!" her voices breaks, words elude her as she quickly realizes that she's wrong. "Wait, please!" she begs but no one is listening, not anymore.  
Devin walks up undaunted. He lifts his hand to preserve the sanguine puddle on his palm. On the other, he opens his cloak to reach for the pistol. "I'm sorry," he begs, "I have to check," he repeats.

 _I am a Jackal,_ Tuko begins to chant and it stirs up Devin and Newt's faces. _and this is my pack  
There are many like it but this one is mine._

Newt despairs, Devin proceeds.

 _The pack is my family, it is my life_ , Tuko continues, undaunted, ready for the next life and its greener meadows.  
 _And I shall serve it as I serve my life  
And I stand behind it in victory  
And fall beside it in defeat_

 _To serve the pack, I must live free  
Never to be bound in chains  
Never to be trapped in a cage  
I live free or die_

Devin's hand begins pull his collar down and graze on the hardened skin of the pack leader. His fingers wrap around the neck. Tuko catches his silhouette by the corner of his eye and instantly takes a deep breath, a cold grasp slithers on his back.  
 _To serve my pack,_ the blood paints it red. _My blade must be swifter_  
 _Than my enemies before me_ , dripping down to his chest.  
 _My shield stronger than their blows  
Heart be fierce and mind be sharp_

 _I shall hunt as a jackal  
I shall fight as a jackal  
I shall live as a jackal,_ bite mark shapes from the blood, two rows of teeth, six fangs each embedded on his neck.

Newt breaks, Devin looks away from her, Tuko feels the hot barrel kissing his temple.

 _Or I shall die as a jackal._

Two rows of wolf fangs appear on the side of his neck. Devin recognizes them, the Mark is hard to forget. Tuko's finding it harder to breath with a shot out lung. The wind grows softer, the sky bleeds out a sunset into the fading autumn afternoon. Newt has no more words to plea, no more excuses to make, nothing to say, not even a whimper. Only her brother's name, "Tuko—"

But then the shot resonates around the forests, scattering birds from nests and echoing throughout the mountains. The wind cannot match its howl, the bullet ricochets for a few moments on the ground before it embeds on the hard bosom of earth. Smoke comes out of Devin's pistol, the bullet went through in a flash. Tuko falls dead to the side, brain matter pour out his temple. And Newt finds herself gasping for breath. Disbelief sucking out the air from her lungs, no one had to die that day.

Devin cracks out a sad smile as he straps back his pistol, "The Creed," he scoffs slyly, a distant memory peeks back at him. "I haven't heard the Creed in a long time," the last light of the sun glints on his eye. A red sky looms over the horizon as frigid winds pick up their pace, "A Jackal to the end, he was," he says softly. But as he laments the fallen Jackal, Newt find no rest in her cries.

It was hard to face her, much less talk to her but he had to try, "I'm sorry, it had to be done," she heard him, or at least he thought she did. Empty eyes stare at emptier hands, the touch of her brother slipping away from her fingers.

"He was marked, can't take him to the authorities," he told the hollow girl that had no more tears to shed. "They'll hold him captive and the clan don't take kindly to their own in captivity." Words passed from one ear to the other but he prayed and hoped that she'd listen, she had to.

"They'll raid the village, search every crack and crevice for him, then they'll kill him anyway, along with you and everyone else in the village." But Newt kept her eyes on the open space before her, broken and beyond repair.

Devin takes his eyes off her and gazes at the willow tree, "That's what it means to be Marked, you live by the Creed. You live free or die." For a moment, her breathing slows down. Her hands stop shaking but she still stares at nothing. Yet, he doesn't let the sudden silence slide past his ear. But when he turns to face her—

He saw her reaching for Tuko's rifle.

The scent of grief is heavy in the air. The end game is nigh. Night approaches from the horizon, another twilight in autumn passes, the unforgiving winter getting closer. She crawls to the rifle, he subtly unstraps his pistol. In mourning, she pulls it closer. With caution, his thumb presses down the hammer. Her fingers lock around the trigger, his hands wrap firm around the gun. Newt's rifle was heavy, Devin's draw was quick.

And then she points the barrel under her chin before her hands begin shaking violently.

Tears pour out her eyes, she begins to silently sob beneath the red autumn sunset. Winds carry her cries along the forest to the whispering trees. Devin eases up his grip. A somber look of surrender is plastered on his face. There is nothing else he can do, loss is something he has felt many times in his past. Friends, lovers—brothers, something he has long accepted as a part of his life, something he cannot change. It hits everyone differently, he understood that long ago. There is no comfort for a grieving sister, none he can give.

He turns around and starts walking back from whence he came. What he needed were in his pockets, nothing else to stay for. He walked past her and into the tent to pick up his rifle and then he came back out to her still weeping for her brother. Again, he walked past her. At the back of his head, he hoped she would change her mind.

She didn't.

He'll never forget the rifle's clatter going off that day. The way the bullet passed through jaw and bone. The way it drowned out the body's heavy thud. Then again, maybe he will. It's hard to remember when you're walking away.


	2. Remnants of the past: Old Friends

Three weeks ago…

It was the last train for the day, so the seats were filled with nothing but the leftover food and newspapers from the last ride. Oscar held tight on the handlebars as he walked through the passenger car he was in. He didn't think his first time would be this quiet save the pitter-patter of the rain growing ever louder. Though the ride was steady, he was still shaky from meeting the man who helped him get his ticket. Ozpin warned him about him, having history with someone can mean a great many things.

The cart was near empty save for Oscar and a fair-skinned man with long, messy dark hair under a black beanie and a long brown trench coat sitting far from them. He was quietly drinking from a flask while playing with his Scroll phone. Though he couldn't get a good look of the man because of the flickering car light, he sought to keep his distance but Ozpin thought otherwise. "It's okay don't be shy" said Ozpin.  
"I'm not" he said before rethinking what Ozpin said, "wait, shy from what?"  
"The man over there" he insisted, "I know him, don't worry." But Oscar is beyond worrying. Ozpin was just a voice he started hearing in his head days ago, a voice that kept on reminding him that they were somehow connected. That they had obligations to fulfill. And although he understood the weight of these obligations, he is still himself and right now he is uneasy of meeting the people Ozpin knows.

"Look, you told me I only had to go to Haven. You didn't mention I'd be meeting your old friends" he pouted.  
"He's not an old friend per se. His name's Devin, you can trust him" Ozpin bartered.  
"I don't care", Oscar pleaded. "I don't want to talk to them if I don't have to."  
"What if I do?" it sparked a curiosity in Oscar, made him considered reconsidering Ozpin's request.

"Hey. Friend" the man started, his voice was heavy and mildly irritated. He drank once more from the flask before talking. His Scroll was still on his hand, "as much as I'd enjoy watching you argue with, um—you, I'd prefer to be watching this video of a dog riding a robot vacuum in peace. So if you don't mind" he smirked and his index finger in front of his lips.

"So-sorry", Oscar was stunned for a moment. He was expecting a worse reaction but nevertheless startled. "What?!" he started again. The man knew what was going to happen, he closed his eyes and just inhaled deeply through his nose, his grip on the scroll tightening. "Why would I tell him that? That's weird", he continued. Giving up and not wanting to beat a dead horse, the man just took out his earphones, let out a long sigh first, then put them on and maxed the volume in his phone.

"Are you sure he'll get it?" he considered.  
"He'll know what it means" answered Ozpin.

Oscar started to approach him, getting a better look than before. He saw that he had light-brown skin and brown eyes. He drew closer, the man was starting to notice. The only thing in Oscar's mind was that the guy wasn't that big, somewhere around 5'7, maybe 5'8. He took another step; the man didn't button up his trench coat even though the rain outside brought an unearthly cold. He could see a peek of his white shirt underneath. Another inch closer, his beanie didn't seem to fold as it rested on his head, as if something was holding it up underneath. Another step, he could see something resting beside the man but couldn't get clear picture because of the flickering lights. One last inch, he stood in front of him, about to speak.

But then he saw the modified sniper rifle sitting beside the man.

Oscar stopped for what felt like day. He couldn't go on. The man caught wind of the situation, he paused the video he was watching and smiled at the farm hand. "May I help you?" he asked slyly.  
"He, um—he told me to, um, tell you" he tried. The man squinted at him then looked around the car, expecting to see someone but knowing they are alone. He extended his free hand to him and gestured him to go on. A moment of reassurance and Oscar continued, "He told me, um, te—ask you, who walks the road paved with yellow bricks?"

Devin's eyes widened as he stared at Oscar, immediately sizing him up, looking for hidden pockets and possible weapons. He took off his earphones and hid them in along with his Scroll in his pocket, then leaned closer to him, "The daughter of Atlas, the cat in the shadows, the heart of Patch, and the silver-eyed warrior", Devin answered calm but vigilant. Oscar turned his head and tilted it a bit as if listening to someone, Devin's eyes just met the floor , enthralled in deep thought.

"Stand firm" Ozpin assured him, "don't be scared."  
"Why would I be scared?" Oscar refuted.  
"Because he's reaching for the rifle."

Devin took the sniper rifle and held it close to him, thought to himself for a moment then turned to Oscar. "Do you know who I am?" challenging him.  
"Like I told you" Ozpin reminded. Oscar had to gulp down first then took a deep breath before setting his gaze on Devin. There was sudden fierceness in his eyes as he looked to answer the faunus.

"You're the jackal the other jackals drove off" his voice was commanding and assertive.

Devin realized and he put down his rifle beside him again. "So it really is you" he was relieved.  
"Yep," Oscar assured him, "in a way."  
"Haven't heard from you in months" he was smiling now and a bit giddy, like a girl visiting her grandparents again. "You, uh, you got younger" his true self was showing.  
"It's complicated" he tried to end the conversation.  
"I also remember you being—white" his entire self showing.  
"That's the Devin I know" Oscar laughs a little. The conversation started to feel natural, like he knew what was going to happen. Every word, every action flowed naturally like water down a river. He was still in control of himself but he didn't expect to control the situation. The conversation lasted two minutes, maybe three. He talked about things he can't remember but Ozpin does. Things like Beacon, maidens, artifacts. It was all a blur afterwards. The two of them enjoyed one last laugh together before he started "So, let's talk business."  
Devin sat up straight, attentive, "Now, that's the Ozpin I know" he cracks one last time and smirks at Oscar, he smirks back.  
"What news of the girls?"  
"Ruby and her team were spotted passing by a settlement in Anima, near Shion. Weiss is still in daddy's place. Not much going on with her, except for this one incident during a party. She snapped at one of the guests" Devin just shrug at the thought.  
"How about the others?" he inquired.  
"Yang Xiao Long is at their home in Patch, quiet usually. Can't blame her, it's not every day you get to lose something dear to you."  
"Seems like you can relate" Oscar cracked at him. He just smiled back, took his flask, smiled again, then took a sip.  
"By the way, you want some?" he offered his flask.  
"No, thanks" he declined, "not much of a drinker."  
"It's not wine, promise."  
"What is it?" he was quick to ask.  
"Grape juice", he was quicker to reply as he held the flask near Oscar's face. He took one reluctant sniff and confirmed it was juice but still declined. Devin sipped again before continuing, "As for Blake, I can confirm she was spotted boarding a ship to Menagerie. Reuniting with her parents, I believe."

Oscar nodded, he looked outside the window, and thought for a moment. "How's the family?" he asked.  
"You mean where?"he clarified, Oscar shrugged. "I haven't heard from father yet, probably still with Khan. Jin, however was spotted along the ruins of Beacon."  
Oscar's face turned to concern, "When?"  
"A month ago. He's not looking for them don't worry", the statement didn't stop Oscar.

"He's looking for me."

"That is troubling" commented Oscar.  
"Haven't heard from him since" said Devin, "however, his right-hand, um, fiancé, Ember, was spotted in a camp west of Haven."  
"How many?" Oscar inquired.  
"Too little" he replied. "Anyway I'm on my way to check it out right now. I'll get back to you once I can."  
"No, need. I want you to keep an eye on the girls first" ordered Oscar. "Once I reach Haven, I'll give you the signal."  
"Alright, sir. I'll go down the next stop then" he smiled.

The train started slowing down, the bell rang and the entire room lit up. Devin took his sniper rifle's strap and wore it on his right shoulder. Then he took his flask and put it inside his coat before he walked up the door. As he waited for the doors to open, he looked back at Oscar and bid him goodbye. He waved back at him.

The train stopped, and it was flooded by passengers as soon as Devin exited. The rain has ended and the sky has calmed. Daylight started to break. Devin has disappeared into the waves of commuting people rushing to work.

"See that wasn't so bad", Ozpin started.  
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess he wasn't."


	3. Remnants of the past 2: Coming to Vale

**Coming to Vale**

Two Years ago in the Kingdom of Vale…

A clear blue sky wrapped over Vale as the winds softly caressed the waves calm. Sun Wukong sat attentively across Devin Jackal was beside him and rested his head upon the wooden crates. He wore a black mid-rift long-sleeved jacket over a gray shirt and pair blue jeans. "No way, you're a-?" Sun's eyes latched on him, bewildered by the sweet-worded Faunus.  
"Yep, White Fang," Devin replied with reluctant pride. "Former member a few years ago," his quick reminiscing was like the first day of spring.  
"I've heard the White Fang were them holier-than-thou type of people," he sneered.  
"An understatement, to be honest," he sneered back.  
"What did you guys do?" Sun's curiosity was always his best trait.  
"Wasn't really there for long, just two years I think," he said, caught off guard. "Not much really, protests and rallies were my thing. Don't know what they're up to now."  
"Nothing good from what I heard," Sun cooled down for a moment and breathed in the cool sea breeze. "So what do you do now?" he asked Devin.  
"Got a job interview in Vale, some kind field work."  
"Which field?" he asked.  
He took a quick breath then peeked out the window. "Don't know yet but I guess we're about to find out," he replied as the horn sounded and the ship was about to dock in Vale. Sun stood up and ran to the windows, his eyes glimmered like the sun reflected by the humble sea.

Buildings stretched out over the horizon. The commercial centers of Vale sang with vigor as people traded and bargained with one another. Then Sun ran to the other side of the room and glimpsed at the other side of Vale. Students, huntsmen and huntsmen-in-training marveled as he marveled as they stepped foot in Vale for first time. They bore witness the simple yet elegant innovations the people of the kingdom made real. "W-o-o-o-o-w", was the only word he could muster.  
"First time, huh?" Devin asked and Sun just nodded without a word. "Been here before, this is just icing on the cake," he said as he patted him on the back.

As the two watched over the horizon three crew members wearing gray vests over black shirts walked into the storage room. "Hey, you there!" one of them screamed, a young man with brown hair as he spotted the two stowaways. Sun's immediate reaction was to brace himself and prepare to sprint away yet he looked at Devin who was still collected and merely raised both hands with a smile on his face.  
"Quick, we gotta bail," he told the smiling Jackal.  
"You go on head, I'll see you later," he whispered to him.  
"As you say so," he said as he sprinted with great haste and passed the men in front of them. He somersaulted on the walls and sent them tumbling down as they tried to catch him. "Go get him, I got this one," one man told the other two. "You stay where you are," he ordered Devin who complied with a shrug.

As sun ran past the two crew members and a couple of policemen on his way into the city, Devin remained below, staring into the open sea. His thoughts wandered far into distant lands. He remembered how they were once new and different. And now that Sun has gone, he wandered further into their streets and alleys that used to dance and sing of progress and change. "Hey," the man with him called his attention and he gave it without a thought. "Don't try anything," he said as he reached behind him and took out a nine millimeter pistol and rested it at his side. Devin grew tired as the man remained near the doorway, waiting for rest of the crew. He laid his hands down and instantly the man aimed the gun at him.

"Don't do it dirt bag or I swear," the man's grip was loose yet his finger was reluctantly holding the trigger.  
"Swear what?" Devin's answer was quick.  
"I swear I'll shoot you, that's what," he answered, the sweat on his brow ran down his face like raindrops on a window.  
"Is that so?" Devin smiled at him.

Then he looked back onto the sea, closed his eyes and took a deep breath and listened.

The waves crashed onto the shores of Vale as calmly as the winds allowed it. The birds sang as they fished over the sea and nested upon the masts of the docked boats. Tourists and newcomers chatted among one another as they first laid their eyes upon the city of Vale. Devin listened, a talent he has proudly honed his entire life. His jackal ears paid close attention to many things nearby. The sea in rhythm, the birds in the sky, the people in their astonishment, the man in his fear to pull the trigger.

"Tell me, friend," Devin started, "have you ever shot someone?"  
"What?" he kept his arms steady.  
"When you shoot someone," he finger-guns in the air, "Bang! The bullet shouldn't pass through you just like that," he explained as he paced a little. "Or at least, not instantly. See that's not what bullets were designed for," he walked closer.  
"Stay back," the man's voice cracked as his control on the trigger started to loosen up and he aimed at Devin's head.  
"Because if you get shot and the bullet goes in one side and out the other, then it's not gonna do much," he takes another step. "I mean sure it might puncture an artery or an organ but that's it.  
"I said stay back!" he demanded.  
"Won't actually kill targets, just make them bleed and bleed," he was now a few feet away from him. "And bleed."  
"Don't come any closer," he muttered under his breath yet Devin still heard it.  
"See the thing is, as squishy as we are, we're strong enough to stop a speeding bullet," he moved within arm's length of him. "Or shatter them to shrapnel anyway, and what happens when we do? The shrapnel bounce around inside you. Go wild like a rat trapped by a bucket. They'll tear and claw their way out of you along with everything in their momentum," he stared down the man's eyes. "That's what they're designed for."  
"Back off!" one last try from him as he regained composure for a moment and then the gun's barrel stared back at Devin. "If you don't back off, I'll make bullets bounce inside you.

Devin scoffed then took one last step and the gun pressed softly against his chest, "How are you gonna do that when the safety's on?"  
The man panicked, the little composure he had fell apart in a second and he tilted the gun to look and saw the safety lock turned to "Semi-automatic".

Devin's right hand grabbed hold of his and held it in place, without the barrel facing him. He tried to wrestle it away but it was clutched tight and Devin wasn't moving as he looked down upon the shrinking man. "Listen," he began, "I'm kind of behind schedule and I don't really care much about you, so here's the deal," he bargained as his free hand reached inside the back of his jacket and pulled up his own pistol. "Just stay here, don't point that gun behind my back or I will shoot. Let me walk away and if anyone of your crewmates come at me, it's okay. You don't have to do anything except stay down here and I won't hurt anyone," he raised his other hand in a pledge, "I promise, deal?" in response he received a quick nod and he replied with a smile. "Great," he exclaimed as he put his pistol back in the holster hidden on his back. His hand was still on the man's gun and he gave him a friendly pat on the cheek as he greeted him, "Have a nice day." Then he walked past him and up the stairs.

There was no one above deck, the pair of crewmates from earlier were on the pier talking to a few policemen. Devin hid behind the rails of the ship as he peeked at them, "Sun" he whispered to himself, and then he sat against the railing and took off his beanie and put it in his pocket. His eyes canvassed the deck, made sure no one was nearby and then he curled up and his body and clothes melded and he grew fur. His jackal ears straightened up, a muzzle formed out of his mouth, and a tail grew behind him. Just like that, he turned into a small jackal.

He walked past the people in conversation, he didn't need to bother and be bothered by them. Down the bustling streets of Vale he threaded, he walked past the tourist and locals and ran into an alley way. Again, he made sure he wasn't seen and then he stretched up and transformed into his Faunus self. He took out his beanie and wore it again to cover the ears. He adjusted it for a moment before he checked his pockets and his holsters to ensure everything was in order before he went on his way.

The Vytal Festival was coming up, preparations were being made. A large banner was displayed on the streets. "Welcome to Vale" it said as the kingdom greeted the different students and tourists from the other kingdoms. Devin admired it for a bit before his attention was caught by something else. A broken down shop at the end of the block was surrounded by authorities and curious onlookers. He squeezed his way out of the incoming crowd as he walked up to the area. The scene drew more and more people and the closer he got, the harder it was to force himself in.

And then once he got near, the first face he saw was a brown-haired detective ready to ask him a question. But he asked first, "Would you happen to know where the 'Crow Bar' is?"  
It caught the detective off guard and all he could say was, "Uh, you just passed it. Just turn back and walk up to the end, then take a left once you reached it. You should see a place with a sign with the obvious crowbars on it."  
"Thanks, much appreciated," he said as he waved goodbye and went on his way. Again, he had to pass through the coming crowd.

After a short walk and a left, he reached the Crow Bar. A wide open bar with little customers except for a blonde woman in a white blouse and purple cape sitting by a table on the left side of the bar and a white-haired middle-aged man with dark shaded spectacles and a black suit over a buttoned vest and green shirt. He recognized who he had to talk to and walked in to the black-suited man's table. "May I?" he asked politely.  
"You may," Ozpin took a sip of his coffee as Devin sat across him. "Want anything to drink?" he offered.  
"No, thanks, just an ashtray," he requested as Ozpin called the bartender for one. Devin reached into his coat and pulled out a match box and a pack of cigarettes and took one. "May I?" he requested again and Ozpin agreed. He lit it up just as the bartender came back with the ashtray.  
"So, you're Devin Jackal?" Ozpin wanted honesty.  
"Yes, sir, that's me," he said. "Just call me Devin."  
"Alright," he agreed with another sip of coffee while Devin just took another puff at his cigarette. "I was told, you're from the famous Jackal Clan of assassins based in Menagerie, am I correct?" Devin didn't answer and just laid back and put his arm across the top of the seat as his eyes canvassed the area like an agitated guard dog. "Don't worry," Ozpin assured him but he gave him a glare as he smoked, "No cameras in the area, not even outside. And the people in here, you can trust them with anything, even this. I've heard of your situation," his voice was heavy with sympathy as Devin took his cigarette and placed it on the ashtray.  
"Yeah, I am. A long time ago," he replied  
"Were you also an assassin among them?" Ozpin followed.  
"I was. But I didn't like where the direction they were going and when they pledged allegiance to the White Fang to do its bidding, that's when I made like a tree and leaved," his answer was the honesty Ozpin looked for him.  
"And does your family know that?"  
Devin fell silent for a moment, and then he tilted his back and took a deep breath. "No, they all think I'm dead. Died off in somewhere, they won't be looking for me."  
"And why'd you want them to think that?" Ozpin took another sip.  
Devin took a puff as he collected his words and they were like iron, "I'm not gonna lie, I did things in my past that I'm not proud of and I didn't want to do any more. But wanting out is going to get me killed anyway-"  
"And fighting your way through them meant taking a few loved ones down with you."  
"Yeah," he said softly as he patted the cigarette ash onto the tray, "As much as I don't like what they've become, I still remember what they were when we were young."

The bar fell silent for a moment, it was Ozpin's turn to collect his words and continue the talk. "Tell me," his began, his voice showed more interest, "I know that Jackals and Branwens were rivals—"  
"You want to know if I would have a problem working with your man, Qrow?" Devin interrupted and Ozpin just smiled at him. "I won't don't worry," he assured him with his own smile before he took finished smoking his cigarette.  
"I meant what was the difference between the two?" said Ozpin as he sat up straight and ordered another cup.  
"Oh," he realized, "well, the Branwens, as to what I know, you can clarify it with your acquaintance later; were self-centered treasure-hunters. Sure the treasure was for their family but each member came first before the family. It kind of explains Qrow's sister, you know, Raven?"  
"I do."  
"The Jackals however, did everything for the family. Everything for the pack as we say, we hunt and we provided. Each member was a purpose for the other to survive and thrive. And we weren't just guns-for-hire either, our hunting used to mean something. Used to be that we eliminated those who threatened the peace in Menagerie, then my father became patriarch and soon we dived down a road of murder sprees and assassinations for fun. And joining the White Fang, well, that was the icing on the cake."  
"And did you also dealt with relics just as Branwens did?" he asked just as the second cup arrived.  
"No, no, no," he disagreed with respect to the headmaster. "See, as the Branwens dabbled with relics and idols, we were in something else," he took another cigarette and put it in his mouth.  
"What did the Jackals dabble with?" Ozpin asked as he drank from his cup.  
"We dabbled in gods."

Storm clouds brewed behind them, just over the calm sea. Winds blew hard into the bar and the bartender had to close down the doors. "Everything for the pack and god's boon was worth more to us than relics and magic," said Devin.  
"You prayed to a lot of gods, Devin?" Ozpin asked.  
Devin smirked and blew a small smoke cloud to his side. "I know a lot of gods, sir. All of them didn't give boons for free and most of them would ask more in return," his voice was in distress.  
"Seems like you didn't want to know a lot of gods," Ozpin noticed. The bartender turned on the heater as strong rain poured outside and piercing cold went in.  
Devin leaned closer and started to have second thoughts. "May I ask, is this part of the interview?" he wondered, "I mean I understand the family but the gods' part. Is it?"  
"Yes, it indeed is," Ozpin returned the smirk as he sipped his coffee.  
"Okay," Devin replied followed by a long sigh. "Well, like I said earlier, the clan and the White Fang thought I was dead. But pulling it off wasn't easy, I had to ask favor from a god. Two gods in fact."  
"Sounds like you're in debt," Ozpin told him.  
"I was. I needed their help to die for the clan and White Fang's eyes and both of them wanted my soul in return. So I sold my soul to both of them and which meant they'll war over it, which they won't because—"  
"Because it means their soldiers would be their followers," Ozpin completed his thought.  
"Yep, gods don't really wanna lose their own faithful. So they released me from my debt, thought I wasn't worth the trouble but they vowed revenge though. If it helps them sleep at night," he took one long puff at the cigarette.

Ozpin was displeased with the sly deception yet amused by the story. He sipped his coffee then faced the woman at counter, "He sounds like a delight doesn't he, Glynda?"  
Glynda Goodwitch replied with a scoff, "Unfortunately, delight isn't what we're looking for."  
"Right you are, Ms. Goodwitch but I believe Mr. Jackal here is the one we need right now," said Ozpin.  
Glynda responded with a sincerely concerned look, "Sir, with all due respect, are you sure a lying, deceptive, ex-assassin is what we need?" she raised her voice at him.  
"What's a better informant than a dead man?" Devin laid back again and blew smoke over his head.

It left Glynda uncertain and she looked at Ozpin for a refusal but he had other things in mind, like a test. "There were several attacks on Dust shops here in Vale, what are your insights on this?"  
"You mean like the one up the street?" he said before he smoked again. "Sounds like an arms race. Someone's starting a war"  
"Would you have any idea on who?" Glynda followed.  
Devin paid attention and faced the two of them. "Judging from the sloppy break in at the Dust store round the corner, I'd say they were amateurs but you said there several, right?"  
"Indeed there were," said Ozpin.  
"Hmm," Devin put down his cigarette and pondered for a moment, "There was that small-time thief."  
"Who would that be?" Glynda was hungry for information.  
"Emerald's her first, don't know her last, went off grid a few years ago. Last I heard she was seen talking with some girl with black hair and a red dress," he satisfied their curiosity and passed their test.

Glynda and Ozpin looked at each other and knew they had the right one. "The girl in the red dress, she's the one I fought against a few months back when the first store was robbed," said Glynda. "It means this Emerald is involved with her."  
"Possibly," replied Ozpin before he turned back to Devin. "What else do you know about Emerald?"  
"Green hair. Small and agile, her semblance is makes you hallucinate. See things she wants you to see. That's what gave her the thief title," answered Devin.  
"Thank you for your time," he said then he stood up and so did Glynda. "We have to make preparations, debrief our agents with this new intel."  
"Again, thank you," Glynda said once more.  
"Not a problem, does this mean I'm in?" Devin asked.  
Glynda looked at Ozpin and he nodded at her, then she reached in her pocket and took out a piece of paper. "Yes, you are," she handed the paper to Devin who opened it immediately. "That's the address you'll be staying at, the rifle you asked to be delivered is also there in a black suitcase."  
"Thanks," said Devin as he puts the paper in his pocket. "Hope the rifle wasn't too much of a problem."  
"Not at all, said Ozpin, "Ironwood didn't mind at all."  
"That's good, that's good," agreed Devin.  
"For now, you'll be task in watching over the kingdom and the upcoming Vytal Festival," instructed Glynda.  
"I see Vale's heading this year's festival. Can't wait for it," he answered with a smile.  
"That's all for now," Ozpin bid him goodbye as he and Glynda walked out of the bar.

Devin stayed and took out another cigarette, "Bartender, gin and tonic please?" he requested.

The rain poured like crashing waves, thunder echoed throughout the city. Ozpin brought out his umbrella which he shared with Glynda as they have a few final words, "Do you trust him?" she asked him to know if he was as skeptical as she is.  
He paused for a moment, "I believe he has a good heart but it's heavy and he doesn't seem to know how to carry it."  
"But do you think he'd be a trustworthy informant?"  
"Yes, yes I do."


	4. RotP: The people we haven't lost yet

**The people we haven't lost yet**

Eight months ago in the ruins of the Beacon Academy…..

There is an echo heard only underneath ruins. It's a symphony that plays across the eons, written by men who carved their legacies in the walls of time. They do not start slow. They erupt heavily before the watchful eyes of history, like the voices of seven thunders roaring in the skies. And yet pride and marvel are alone in the melancholic debris of Beacon academy. There was also fear, and horror, and chaos. The rampaging Grimm could still be felt between its broken walls. Their hate and fury still engraved upon the tomb now known as Beacon. A towering reminder of the lost and damned during that day, a scar in the face of Vale.

But tonight, it falls silent, as all cemeteries should. There is still an echo howling in the wind. Qrow Branwen has heard it, has been listing to it for the past few hours. It has not gotten neither louder nor quieter, it's just—there. The echo playing around crumbled walls and scattered debris. Seething through the crevices, slipping in and out of corners, creeping through stone and rubble, making itself known as if he doesn't hear it in his bed every night, keeping him awake most days. He stands by the courtyard, near the dried up fountain where his niece greeted him with a tackle when he first returned here. He takes a sit by its edges and sees how the sunset reflected on her smile. It reminded him of her mother, someone she treasured close like a sister. Suddenly, he finds himself reminiscing of old glories and taken names. Team STRQ was one of them, a cocktail mix of adventure and mishaps that he'd indulge on sooner than later. But as he remembered the good, so came in the worst. The divides among the members, promises as brittle as glass, and above all, losing a friend. And in that moment, he couldn't bear it any longer. He reaches behind him, feels the leather casing of the small flask attached to his belt and grabs like a swooping eagle and opens the cap. He could feel the cold whiskey stirring up inside, he could already taste its warm bitter kiss down his throat and he took no time before his lips opened up to it like a warm welcome. He savored every last drop, the sip felt like an eternity and truly was as warm and bitter as he imagined but more importantly, it was numbing, a sweet numbing of his mind, just to stop it from wandering again to places unwanted. Just to stop remembering the blood running down her pale white skin, her empty silver eyes, and that damned jackal kid-.

"Qrow!" a voice calls from behind, a commanding tone from another long time friend. He opens his eyes and fumbles about trying to close the flask. The courtyard was silent again, emptied of his screaming memories, the echo was still there, it will always be there. But from afar, he hears footsteps. Light ones, the kind that heels make and when he looks up with a better focus, he sees Glynda Goodwitch approaching from the shadows of the "Closed-off" barbed-wired fences. She wasn't particularly angry nor was she irritated by him. Quite frankly, she wasn't particularly anything at all as she walked up to him with her normal headmistress face. She was wearing a purple sweater over her white button-up blouse and pencil skirt. Her hand was held firmly in her hand, ready to act if need be. "Are you drinking before the mission?" she questions him with the harshness of a prison warden, something he's used to.  
"Uh, no, no. I'm just—" he mishandles himself trying to hide the flask behind his back quickly. The alcohol was still fresh on his lower lip and he knew he couldn't stop her from noticing, "just passing time." He turns around and marvels upon the fallen Beacon, how it glistens like the calm seas under the shy moonlight even as a ruin amazes him either way. "Lots of memories in this place, shame to see it like this," he says with a liberating breath of air.  
Glynda joins and stands beside him with arms crossed and the Riding crop held between her fingers as she watches with the same nostalgic thoughts he has, "I know, I still remember where we held the initiation last year." The Emerald forest was as clear as day in her mind and bright as uncut emeralds raw from the mines. She remembered how each student proved themselves, each unique style of fighting, and a different heart shown by each innocent soul.  
"Yeah, that was my nieces' first day of school. Wish I was there to see them," he replies humbly.  
"I wish I could still see more first days of school," she says solemnly and Qrow blindly nods to agree. But then she turns to face him with the same blank expression she had when she saw Qrow guzzling down the flask like lemonade.

"But that wasn't why you were drinking, was it?" she asks and he felt like he just lost an interrogation as the truth weakly crawled up his throat and out of his tongue.  
"No, no it isn't," his hand itches to reach for the flask but his honesty forces him to stay sober.  
"Is it because of the boy?" she asks again and it merits short sigh of admission from the proud scythe-wielder.  
"Yes, it is. You wouldn't understand, Glynda," he looks away as the walls encroach around him, comfy and protective.  
"Then help me understand, Qrow," she persists as she tries to look into those stubborn eyes and see the pain beyond them.  
"I don't know how, nor can I prove it, but he was there when Summer died," a strong air of certainty amassed around him as he said those words. "His eyes, those were the same eyes that ran away when we first discovered the body," his hands begin to shake at his sides as he clenches them into fists. He tried hard to keep the tears from flowing but they leaked out like raindrops through the ceiling cracks. He lifted his right harm from the agony and Glynda caught it to stop him from hurting any further. She gave him a few pats on the back and pushed him to sit by the fountain rest again. Her soft palm grazed his hair, calming the crow lost from its flock.

"I just can't find the strength in me to trust him, Glynda" he says weakly as she tries to soothe the wound within him. Then she sits beside him, the damp rim was cold beneath her pencil skirt but she doesn't mind when a friend is in need.  
"I know, Qrow. You don't have to," she says sincerely, drawing his grieving attention to her and earning her a smile.  
He sniffs the cry away and wipes the tears clean from his eyes, it's always easier to know that someone is on your side, "How about you? Do you trust him?"  
Glynda lets out a sigh and turns her face away, knowing that her next words won't be as soothing as music to her friend, "I trust in Ozpin's decision. If he trusts him then he must see something in him that we don't."  
"Fair enough," the old crow replied acknowledging that that's the best he's going to get from her. But also accepting the fact that she is right to trust in Oz' plan. If they are to get anywhere, it'll be through the late headmaster's decision.

"Where is he anyway?" she asks, looking around the courtyard barely touched by the shy moonlight and she finds nothing but a symphony of silence playing all over the dusty debris.  
"You actually think I'd know?" Qrow smirks at her, teasing lightly. She doesn't take it well and gives him a discerning frown as she stands on the fountain's rim, gazing over the horizon. Again, she finds nothing. Then Qrow wields his scythe that is still in its most basic transformation and drives it down beside him, using it to push himself up, "Frankly, if it wasn't for you, I'd be passed out drunk right now."  
"Now's not the time for jokes, Qrow," she snaps at him and he just rolls his eyes and looks behind but something emerges from the distant sky and it catches his attention like a moth under the bug-zapper's light.

"But is it the time for that?" he says with a face full of confusion as him and Glynda stare blankly into the Atlesian ship approaching them. It was a small private ship with cockpit windshields tinted black and a dual-rotor system on both of its wings but it had its blinding headlights on and focused on the two huntsmen, making them shield their eyes from its unnerving glare. "Well, there goes subtlety" says Qrow as he turns his back from the chopper.  
"What the hell is this?" Glynda screams at him as if expecting an answer but she doesn't even get a shrug because he had an idea of who it was.  
"There's only one person I know who owns something like that," he begins explaining but then the ship's engine whirls down and the lights turn off as it starts to descend. It turns sideways and lands on an empty space in front of them. The engine subsides and then the door opens on its side, unfolding a long gray platform and out of it emerges Winter Schnee, Rapier sheathed by her side but there was impatience and anger in her expression as she waltzed over to them with clenched fists and words about to erupt.

"Where is he?" she demands without context, just an assumption of an answer. But vague questions don't move the interrogation forward and she earns nothing from throwing it haphazardly at them.  
Glynda and Qrow looked at each other as the Schnee stood before them nearly hyperventilating from rage as she waited for a response.  
"I'm guessing he invited you too, huh?" says Qrow with a raised brow.  
"He gave me a call a couple of days ago, told me to come or he'd release some incriminating photos to General Ironwood," she replied, almost gasping for air as the thought made her shiver.  
"What kind of incriminating photos?" Glynda asks with a more raised and confused eyebrow.  
"I don't know," Winter declared, panicking in her mind but containing it with a surplus of talking, "that's why I'm here. It's keeping me awake at night." She reaches for her rapier and draws it swiftly with a hand shaking from rage. Then she looks up to the night, it's gleaming stars look back and she screams with the ice-cold fury of hell, "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BASTARD?"  
"Calm down, Winter," Glynda pleaded and paired it with a reluctant pat on her shoulder.  
"For all you know, he's just screwing with you," Qrow gave her a shrug but she didn't pay them any heed.  
"No! I've worked too hard to be where I am and I'm not letting some scrawny half-dog tear me down!" she argued with a vengeance directly in front of Qrow's face.

"Yeah, calm down" a voice replies from the shadows of the ruins. It made three heads turn and two more weapons drawn by wary huntsmen ready to cut the first thing they see. Behind the crushed benches on a narrow cobblestone walkway covered in rubble was a small thin jackal with coal black fur and deep amber eyes approaching them. "Don't wanna break your noggin' over someone like me," Devin said as he transformed into his faunus form wearing formal slacks, a dark long-sleeved shirt with its sleeves folded up to his elbow and chest gun holster strapped around it, and a wide grin on his face to top it all off.  
"There you go," said Qrow gesturing with his hands towards Devin as if delivering him to Winter. She just gave him a quick glare and then rushed to the jackal's side, rapier drawn.  
"What do you want, Jackal?" she asks, just wanting to be done here as quickly as possible.  
"Have to make delivery to Atlas, I need a ride," he answers and is met with Winter's brief look back at her ship. As he glances back at him, he pulls out an envelope tucked in behind his belt and gives her a short taunt. But she gnashed her teeth and immediately swiped at it but he pulled back with a flick of the wrist, just provoking the beast.  
"Fine," she finally agreed, trying to calm her hands down to her side. "Where's the package?"

"Over there," he points behind him, over to the enormous inverted cone-shaped coliseum lying sideways a couple hundred yards past the towering school of Beacon. He pointed to Amity coliseum.  
"There?" Glynda exclaimed from behind, as if she spoke for the rest of them who were also staring speechless into the horizon. "There's nothing there but Grimm around every corner."  
"As much as I love disagreeing with you, Jacky, she's right. The place is crawling with them," Qrow backed her up with a stern resolve. His hatred for him was still there but subsided temporarily to make way for reason.  
"What would someone from Atlas want in there?" asked Winter who was reconsidering her choices.  
"It's not a 'what'," Devin rebutted her, "it's a 'who'." He was met with judging eyes looking at a madman outside their circle of trust. And his call for action here does not help their image of him.

Except for Qrow, he knew who Devin was pointing at. He had the same mindset with everyone else but he may not understand the little jackal's reasons but he understood his intentions. And every inch of his body was pulling him away from this night, pulling back in bed with his flask. But there was something keeping him in place, nailing his feet to the ground and forcing him to ask further, why and how, and it was name. "Penny Polendina" her name tasted of sour iron, her memory was a brand seared on his brain. But he said it with a feeling of refreshing air beneath his wings. A soaring freedom he has enjoyed in a long time. Because he realized now that this was not an order from Ozpin to Devin, this was a show of the little jackal trying.  
"The robot girl?" realized Winter, she remembered little of her but everything she could recall told her it was a waste of time if not a suicide mission. "Are you serious?" she fires back at Devin, hoping he too would have an ear for reason. "Look at that place, she's probably scrap metal by now!" but her words barely dented the immovable jackal.  
"I hate to tickle your knickers the wrong way but surprisingly, she's not," he says as takes something out from his pocket, a pink metallic bow and shows it to them with a giddy smile on his face. "I tried last week before they closed it off, this was the only thing I could get out."She hands it to Winter to give her a closer look at the small bow. She held the cold iron piece in her hands and realized that he was right, there was a chance and they have to take it. For the first time, he and she saw eye to eye. "With everythin' that's been goin' on, we need allies. And though Vale is about to throw away its alliance with Atlas, at least we could keep her father on our side."  
"Huh, never took you for someone with initiative," he lets a smile slip out from under his distant perspective of him. Something that Glynda and Devin saw but more importantly, it was something he himself realized. It was always a back and forth battle within him for what happened with Summer. But now he's thinking that perhaps Glynda was right to trust in Ozpin's decision. And though the time for healing was still far, this was a massive step from the jackal. "Alright, that's good work, kid. What's the plan then?"

"Right," Devin cracks a smile and reaches into his pocket for his scroll. He opens some programs from it and then lays it down on the ground in front of them and then a hologram of a ruined Amity Coliseum emerges from it. They could see the rubble by the yard in front of it, the dust crystal base was shattered to pieces, the walls by the archways caved in, a large side of the rims of the crystal dome roof was crushed when the coliseum fell, destroying the roundest part of its cone shape and kept it in place. Then he kneels down the others kneel down after him, "so most of her pieces are here, where the arena should be," his finger circles the midsection of the coliseum. "Getting there on foot shouldn't be a problem, been scouring the area all day and I found an underground tunnel the stagehands used to take in order to operate the Magnetic Reflector platform that kept the coliseum floating in place."  
"That's underneath the ground floor of Beacon," exclaimed Glynda as she was eyed by the others, "I still have access to it."  
"Good," Devin nods in approval, Winter remains attentive while Qrow gives his own smile of support to his friend. "Once we reach the platform, it'll be crawling with Grimm, we will indefinitely draw attention," then he points to the broken dust crystal on the bottom tip of the dome. "There's an opening here, it should take us one or two floors deep into the building. Glynda, I need you to close of that section immediately after we enter." She gives him a firm nod and he moves on. "Once we're inside, I'll activate my semblance which will put me in a trance state."  
"So you need us to bodyguard you while you look for Penny's remains," Qrow says squarely and he receives a silent shrug of honesty.  
"In my trance state, I'll be completely focused on looking for Penny's remains, so I trust you with my defense you drunken bird brain," he humors Qrow but every word out of his mouth is drenched in sincerity talking to the man whose hands he can already feel wrangling around his throat.  
But Qrow has a different idea and lets out his loudest scoff into the night, startling even Winter and Glynda but he himself did not care how they reacted. "Don't push your luck you chimney-throated mutt," he throws back at him but he wasn't done yet, "Or else we'll be collecting two sets of quartered people tonight," and they both laugh while Winter frowns down on them and buries he face in her hands but Glynda lets out a small giggle unheard of by the two. The sight of Qrow trying to stay in touch with a boy is warm and sweet portrait to behold.  
Then Devin tones down a little, gasping for air as he begins to stop laughing, "But it's not just Grimm," the smile on his face ends and he glances at Glynda again, "My semblance will lead me to easier ways which might mean outside and around the area, I need you to open up pathways for us inside the coliseum, make sure we go through and not around."  
"Affirmative," she responds with great conviction. Her fingers grasp her crop rigidly, awaiting the chance to be casted.  
"Right," he sternly answers then looks at Winter, "Your ship has that homing feature, yeah?" he asks just to confirm.  
"Yeah, the signal range isn't that far though, so we have to be in a safe and closer distance to call it," she replies but it wasn't taken as well as Devin hoped. He takes a deep breath and then puffs up his cheeks as he exhales with a blow.  
"That'll have to do, we'll have to climb on top of the coliseum after we collect all the parts, then we'll hold that position until the ship arrives." He takes back his scroll and they all stand up to face the ruins of Beacon once more, "I'll take the lead, I'll be in my jackal form once we enter the tunnel and scout ahead for any Grimm, I'll give you lot a bark once I sniff them out." He puts the scroll back into his pocket and draws the pistol from his holster. "One last thing," he faces them once more with a rigid look on his face, "we have to do this fast, my semblance uses a ton of aura and if it takes too long, I'll past out and Qrow will have to carry an extra weight around."

"Well then," Qrow erupts from behind with confident smirk and his great sword in his hand, bursting into a cold Scythe, "lead the way, little jackal."


	5. RoTP: Mending

**Mending**

In the dark abandoned halls of Beacon academy, a looming echo still resonated through debris and rubble. The building's structure, in itself, still held together but its interior was left decimated by rampaging Grimm. Within collapsed floors and cracked walls, a little black jackal crawls through narrow crevices as it sniffs out traces of Grimm that remain plastered all over the walls. Its ears perk up but he doesn't listen to the melancholy halls of Beacon. He's just waiting, waiting for something to break the deafening silence, waiting for that one unknown footstep to approach, waiting for them.

"Is it clear, yet?!" Qrow shouts irresponsibly at Devin. The little jackal suddenly flees from the hall and backs himself into the barricade of debris, whimpering with his tail between his legs and his ears fold from the fear rushing inside him.  
"Are you crazy?" Winter scolds Qrow, her face is barely visible under the faint torchlight but her anger is seeping through its flames as she glares at Qrow, waiting for him to look her way. "Do you want every creature of Grimm in a ten-mile radius to come running to us when we can't even see more than ten feet in front of us?"  
"What?" he feigns ignorance, always does with her. "I wanted to see if it was safe now." She can only imagine his smug face in those dark halls. Then they hear clattering of metal and small debris crumbling in the distance. A sharp thud bangs in front of them, Devin's head meets the hard steel shelves and he struggles up on his feet as he changes into human form. "Frigging—" he clutches his head to soothe the aching, it works out poorly. "Sod off, ya wanker" he says from the darkness and faces the three while scratching the pain away from his head.  
"Well?" Qrow shrugs at him, he leans forward and asks again, "Are we clear?" Glynda rolls her eyes and sighs at him, he doesn't hear.  
Devin looks back, the pitch black corridor of fallen walls and rubble is unwelcoming but he's used to being unwelcomed, "Should be for another hundred feet, or at least until we reach the stairwell." He holds the strap of the rifle hanging on his shoulders tightly as he walks over collapsed columns and scattered chairs. "I'll check again in a few. You'll need to lift these things away, though." He softly taps the steel shelf in front him just Glynda can hear.  
"Let me," Glynda walks past Qrow with a firm grip on her crop stick. She boldly, out of the light then plants her feet in front of the barricade. She couldn't see it but she felt its presence blocking the bath. Devin backs off as she points her crop stick in front. And in an instant, the weight of steel channels through her arms and she grasps the immovable object with her semblance. Its crushing weight was a nuisance at first, especially considering that she was out of practice. She waves her arms in a smooth grace and aura flows through her finger tips. The shelf and rubble levitate off the ground, pieces of debris fall off them like sand sifting through one's hands. Slowly and cautiously she carries them away from the corridor and puts them behind the corners. It was always easy for her to repair and clean up after Beacon but tonight she felt each broken piece she will never fix again in her hands. For the first time, she felt the rubble grow heavier in her grasp and her hands shook as she finally laid the blockade out of the hall.

A fatigued Glynda panted as she marveled at her work. Though it was dark, a large enough opening presented itself before them and she smiled at her work.

Qrow walks first, a proud smile on his face and then a pat on her back as he passes by. "Nice work," he gives the first round of compliments. Winter follows with the light and Glynda and her walk together in the narrow corridor.  
"We've a long way ahead of us," Devin gladly moves forward in the somber halls of Beacon. He treads cautiously but keeps his lead far from them, at least several feet in front but Glynda sees him take the lead and she hastens her pace. Though it was dim, she recognized the decors defaced from the walls, the shattered glass of old cases where awards were displayed. Memories in the remnants of her once beloved academy. So she matched his speed and strutted beside him with her high heels clicking in every step. "Pleasure to be by your side, madam," Devin was taught to be courteous to his superiors, the concept always was nailed to his temple. Yet, he means to also ask what is her hurry striding by his side. But a quick glance of her eyes and the brief edge of a smile on her cheek pardoned him not to ask.  
"I know every nook and cranny of this school like the back of my hand," she raises her chin high as she side-eyes him, confidence brimming in her strut. He raised a brow in protest. In his mind, her presence towering beside him would alert nearby Grimm, not to mention her heels tapped on the cold ground like a lamb traveling through pavement. But before he could ask, she spoke again and with great certainty, "I can help guide you to the tunnels. Shouldn't be long," she lets it sink into him. Luckily, he was an easy sea to sink into and he just slightly puffed his lips and nodded lightly to himself in agreement. And with that she was satisfied, facing him one last time and telling him, "Oh, and the pleasure's all mine." He smiles and takes a short lead, she follows behind and he glances at her from time to time to ask the way.

Qrow strode past Winter's torchlight but when she noticed that his careless humor earlier has died down to an aimless crouch-walk with a blank glare on his face. She catches up to him, a few short steps and then she levels her eyes to his, but then he utters the first word and catches her mid-thought, "You seem awfully calm for someone who was about to tear a 'half-dog's' head off his shoulders," he says in his cool damp breath. He straightens his back and gives her quick glances, the modest torchlight shows little of Winter's stunned face. "I thought you'd be at his throat by now. Surprising how easy you turned once he asked you earlier."  
"Hmph" she snubbed him. She had a disgusted look on her face as her footsteps grew heavier and quicker. Her brow furls beside the soft ember and it doesn't go unnoticed.  
"You believe him, don't you?" he looks at her with growing concern. He knows very little of her relationship with him but is trying not to pry.  
"I believe he'll honor his word with what little honor he has running through those mongrel veins of his," her words were the blizzards of winter's advance. Her voice was the thunder speaking in seven tongues seething with fury. "If not, then I'll have his head with me in my ship by sunrise."  
"There's the Winter I know and don't love," Qrow humors her and then gives her a tiny shove on the shoulder and a relaxed grin. Then it fades as fast as it appeared, "What's your beef with him anyway? What did he do to you?" he inquires cautiously.  
"Pffff" a tendril of her snow white hair brushes softly upon her face, she blows it away with a swift puff and a snap of her head, tossing the stray strand back in line. "A few years ago, my father employed his services into the Schnee Dust Company during the rise of White Fang violence." Regret was sour in her mouth. With every word she spoke, it felt like spitting out poison from a wound, "He was a mercenary hired to guard dust cargo across realms." Then her brows unfurl and her voice softens their tense into laments, "But guarding precious cargo meant guarding precious secrets. And I'm sure he got his hands on information too sensitive that it will be catastrophe for me and my family." She speaks as if condemning a convict to their last moments behind the hangman's noose.  
"Winter, knowing you, you have clean slate. So sparkly that I could use your portfolio as a mirror," he gives her a confused look but then he pats her on the back and it caught her off guard. "I never knew you were under Jacques' payroll."  
"That's the thing!" she suddenly turns pale from anxiety. Her words bear defensive shield walls around them, "I'm not but the photos that he has would put me in the hot seat either way."  
"How do you know?"  
"I just know," she swings the torch as she faces him and almost hits his hair bangs with its fire. She didn't even notice it and just continued, "Every time I saw him- every time he saw me, I was at the wrong places at the right time." Then she looks forward again, her mind wanders and her eyes search for thoughts to wallow on as she tries her hardest to drown out the memories. "Collapsed dust mines, tired out workers, every time I was set to visit one of father's ventures. Every time, he was there."  
Qrow stops in his tracks, empathy whispers its solemn curiosity into his ears. He looks at her with sincere worry, a familiar echo resonates behind him, "You thought he was tracking you."  
Winter lays back, almost collapsing to the dusty wall beside her. Thoughts grow heavy in her head, "I don't just think, I know," she says with fearful certainty.  
"Winter, Oz and I have been using him for the two years now. Kid's done nothing but gather intel from the enemy," he tries to assure her some security.  
"You don't understand, this was before Ozpin employed him," she mutters with cold hatred. "That kid has seen his fair share in violence."  
"Even so, he was part of Clan Jackal, what could they do with that kind of information. They're not really your neighborhood activists, you know."  
"Qrow," Winter's eyes widen, her hands shake in terror as she realized his naivety.

"Clan Jackal is part of the White Fang," the names part from her lips and echo through Qrow's ears, sending a chill of betrayal down his spine. "They were the ones spearheading attacks on the royal families of Atlas. And worse," if she had no proof to show, she would not have said it. But she did and it felt entrapping, "they've found Jackal bodies among the dead in Beacon. Hunters from their clan in White Fang clothing," Qrow stared at her, shaking as if he has seen a ghost. She stares back, disbelief is a hard one to bargain with yet she has to try, "You never knew?"

Glynda Goodwitch strode down old walls. The stairwell was clear of Grimm just as Devin scouted earlier and yet every floor beyond that was safe from corruption as the pair went lower and lower. As usual, Devin would occasionally shift to jackal form and search ahead, sniffing out nearby enemies. It was only a precaution, one they needed to take in order to complete the mission. She lit the way down with her crop stick and it was only then that she noticed that they were alone. "Wait, where's Winter and Qrow?" she asks looking back.  
"Lagging behind it seems, huh. I have an idea," he draws his pistol and transforms it into a dagger then he smashes the concrete walls at first then begins carving into them. "I saw some wooden splinters lying around earlier, hand me some will you?" he points downstairs behind Glynda. She gives him a confused and reluctant look. The way down seems like a hungering abyss waiting to swallow victims whole. She points her crop stick's light questioningly but then she sees the splinters he mentioned, shattered tables and broken chairs littered the lower halls as if poured down the stairwell like water on glass.  
"How'd you know?" she turns around to ask him as he deepens the hole he made in the softened walls.  
Then he stops after a third one and takes his beanie off his head and faces her with the pointed jackal ears, "Faunus remember?" he slyly answers while wiggling his ears for emphasis. "We have night vision, and it's pretty strong in my clan." He puts back the beanie and continues his work, more holes are aligned up the stairwell.

With his clear explanation, Glynda is off on her way, illuminating the path as she goes down. She picks up the first thing she sees by her feet, a crushed table drawer dragged to the bottom. The wide plank was slightly damp from mild waters, she carries it upstairs and hands it to Devin who examines it with a forced look in his eyes, "They're too wet, won't last long," he sticks it into the wall and then unfolds his sleeves and rips off a small piece of cloth. He raps it around the thin wood, making as much rounds around the tip as he can, thickening it into a poorly crafted torch. Then he reaches for his back pocket and takes out his Zippo lighter and lights the makeshift sconce anew. It was dim yet it created a faint light that burned bright up to the stairwell's entrance.  
"Hopefully, they'll see that," says Glynda while watching Devin carve another hole in the wall. He struggles as the concrete isn't damp enough for the knife's hilt to crack through. She draws her crop stick and stands back, "Let me," she offers with a smile on her face. Devin steps back and lets her have a turn. A small invisible field was seen around the tip of her crop stick, it swayed and danced like the autumn winds. And then the wall begins to crumble, small pieces of concrete fell down from its surface and perfectly circular hole appeared.

Glynda lays back, admiring her handiwork and then she looks back at Devin with one hand on her hip and a smug grin on her face. "That should do it."  
Devin stands back wide-eyed in awe. The words claw for breath out of his mouth, "I guess we'll swap." He runs down the stairs and picks up floorboards, broken desks, or any other pieces of wood lying around. He collects about a handful before he proceeds back to Glynda who already made three more. He breaks the wood in half on his knees and puts the thin pieces into the holes. Again, he rips a little bit of his sleeves' cloth and wraps it around them and then lights them on fire. The same faint light emits from the makeshift sconces but it helps them light the way back with the hopes that Qrow and Winter will follow.

"So, how far still?" he asks while pulling out the last of his sleeves, almost opting to tear off from his shirt's front.  
"Should be on the next floor," she digs out a handful of concrete and lets Devin place another piece of wood. "Fortunately, none of the sconces have burned out yet."  
"Good, hopefully those two will pick up the pace," he untucks his shirt and tears cloth from the helm. Glynda opens up two more holes but Devin's running out of shirt.  
"Here," she takes off her tiny purple cloak and splits it in half. She hands the first to Devin who wraps it around another stick of wood and lights it. Then she lets out a relieved smile, she doesn't know this little jackal. At first she also doubted Ozpin's decision, letting an outsider work for their circle but seeing him now in action, putting together this mission truly impresses her even by just a little. "Noble thing you're doing here, Devin," she whispers softly to him as she digs out one last hole.  
"That so?" stick in hand, he plants another one and lights it into a vivid ember.  
"It is, a thoughtful initiative from you if I may say kindly," she steps back and lets him plant the next one. "That should be the last one," she says as she enters the next floor and signals him to come, "The entranceway should be here," she nudges her head for him to follow and they enter into a dark hallway illuminated again by Glynda's crop stick.  
Devin dusts of his hands and walks behind her, "Thank you, I don't know who your enemy is, I've never heard of them in any of our tales but every ally we can get counts."

Glynda and Devin entered the floor through wooden doors that were still more or less in good condition. A few scratch marks were on them but they were still fine. They traversed through a narrow corridor with no rooms, only a shorter tunnel leading to the main one. Still there were no lights or torches around, so Devin crafted one last makeshift sconce and Glynda dug the needed hole for it. This one burned brighter than the rest and sent the two of them warmth. "Where will you be off to next?" she asks him sincerely.  
"Heading to Mistral, tracking the clan. Adam's return here means they'll act in return, they'll be making their move soon," his face is stern, the thought of family lingers with him longer than he intends yet he can't control. He can only drown it out, "But first I have to keep tab on the girls, Ozpin told me to before Beacon fell." His mood lightens up as did hers.  
"Team RWBY?" she says with a sliver of curiosity and then an eyebrow raised in epiphany. "And I suppose Ozpin told you to ask me for help, didn't he?" she looks at him half-knowing the truth.  
"I need their records, I'm told you'd have some copies at home."  
"I don't think that's something I can give away freely, even to you," she curiously declines.  
"Oh, come on Glynda," he groans, "I need help putting their faces into mind."  
"Are you telling me a tracker doesn't know what the person he's tracking looks like?" she sneers at him.  
"Well, I've only just begun my research. I know Blake but Ozpin only gave me aliases to work with. I know the Silver-eyed warrior and Heir of Atlas but I keep forgetting the Heart of Patch." He complains but Glynda sees something else through the ruse.  
"That'd Yang Xiao Long, Ruby Rose's sister," she answers and sees his head lighten up in a eureka moment. Then he transforms his knife into a pistol and puts it back into his holster as he takes a pen from his pocket and begins writing the name on his hand. But Glynda peeks over his shoulders and sees him writing it down with glee. But personal intentions don't escape the sly headmistress, "Do you want her number too?" she teases him.  
Devin looks up straight, the question sounds awry in his mind. He faces her with a confused look and she just smiles back with a pompous expression of pestering torment. "It's not like that, this is strictly professional," he says in the most unprofessional defense he is able to muster.  
"Strange how you didn't know her when you already knew who Ms. Rose was?" she teases him a bit more, it was amusing, really.  
Then he turns around in a snap and continues walking further. Then Glynda lets out a brief giggle as Devin paces faster, cheeks flustering red from embarrassment. "I'm moving on with this convo."  
"Oh, cheer up, Devin. I was only teasing you a little," she follows after him as he ignores her still. "Besides, doubt you'd get a call even if you tried."  
Then his ears pop up from other his beanie, "What do you mean?" he asks him as he faces back.  
"She's bed-ridden right now, recovering from injuries," she replies sadly.  
"Why, what happened to her?" he asks and it catches Glynda by surprise. 

Nevertheless, she gave an answer, "her arm was cut off by Adam Taurus in the battle."  
"Oh," his eyes avoided hers but his mind sought to refuge elsewhere, particularly far from this conversation. "Well anyway—" words escaped for a moment, a long enough moment. "With what you people stirred up, it looks like you would need allies," she agrees with him, thinking deeply of their current situation. "And—and, ahem" he clears his hoarse throat with great effort, "from what I remember seeing her last fight, she is a fierce fighter."  
"Well," Glynda's grin was both piercing and soul-breaking, "you're not wrong."  
Devin clears his throat again, "But Ozpin's particularly interested in the silver-eyed one, hmm" he ponders for a moment, tapping his chin lightly with his free hand and mutters to himself, "so, thinking of hitting two birds with one stone, since her sister did lose a limb, maybe if we can help her find another. That's not hard to arrange" he begins to hint and she begins to understand.  
And in that second another epiphany unfolds before her and she turns to him with a sly grin, "That's why we're here." She declares and meets his blank stare, "You want to make sure she gets an arm from Atlas."  
He pauses, tossing all words down the drain and carefully choosing new ones, "Well, that was the idea," his breath trailing off into the shadowy halls of Beacon. Fleeing from Glynda's sharp teasing smug.  
But before she could agree, disagree, or tease him some more, they finally stumbled upon the steel door leading to the tunnels. "Here we go," she says as she takes out her keys and unlocks the keyhole. One quick click and suddenly the rusty door creaks slowly open. "After you," she takes this chance one last time.

But before he could pass, they both heard running through the halls. Footsteps were light and yet rushing. There two sets and they were heading towards them, "That must be Qrow and Winter," she suggests.  
"Ah, right on time," he was happy that they could finally progress faster and he could sulk in shame far away from here. "I'll scout ahead, meet you three at the exit." He pulls beanie down, covering his head and he doesn't stop there as he starts to envelop his entire body with the beanie. He just kept pulling down until a black ball of fur was left and from emerged the black jackal. He scampers off into the darkness leaving Glynda alone to wait for the two. She didn't mind, she found it amusing to see through him.

But then Qrow stormed the hall with Winter, his scythe was drawn and dragged through the floor, cleaving the concrete asunder. The ground was trembling beneath his fury, lines cracked upon the walls as he blindly struck them in his rage. The echo ringed his ears like being shell-shocked from a gunshot. Glynda quaked where she stood, her long time friend was now walking down the narrow passage with a bloodlust in his steps.  
"Where is he?" he demands, his eyes were a burning supernova, consuming everything in its wake.  
"Qrow, what's going on?" she asks anxiously.  
"Devin," his voice drummed low like seven distant thunders whispering with one another, calling forth the storm. "Where is he?" Glynda stammered, words could not leave her lips when he stood like a fiery blade of hate and malice. She clutches her crop stick, her senses return for a moment and she chooses to stand.  
"Qrow, what is this about?" she faced him, calm and collected.  
He gnashes his teeth in impatience but before can bark at her, Winter steps in. "Glynda," Reason shows its face in these dark tunnels, its obscure radiance brings serenity into the atmosphere, "please listen. He isn't who you think he is"  
"What do you mean?" she replies but her stick is slowly aiming for Qrow and it doesn't slip his eye.  
"She worked with him a few years back, in the Dust Schnee company," he answers, the rage is subsiding steadily but his grip on his scythe grows firmer.  
"It's true," her eyes are pleading for Glynda to listen. She lends an ear for Winter to whisper to, "my father hired him to help protect our dust cargo." It catches Glynda's attention, it was something she has never heard of before.  
"Th-that's absurd, he's never mentioned that," she was unable to respond with a clear thought.  
"That's because he never actually worked for Jacques," Qrow said coldly, pacing to the round door. She was still unable to digest it, jaws wide open, shaking from disbelief.  
"When he came in, that's when the White Fang attacks happened. That's when their aggression grew," she says with every ounce of sincerity.  
"That ain't even the best part," Qrow slowly lets his weapon rest beside him. Then he reaches inside his shirt and pulls out his flask, guzzling down a mouthful of sweet, numbing whiskey. Then Glynda faces Winter whose torch is now burning out into a hollow ember.  
"He took photos of me assisting in Father's operations. Not just any operations but the illegal ones," there was fear in her eyes, a ghost clinging on to her heart, pulling her back to her past. "Those are what he's using to blackmail me."  
"He's playing us right from the start. This guy comes in to our circle and suddenly all this happens," he throws out his arms and spins around, basking in the destruction that the White Fang has left in their wake. Then he takes another swivel before closing his near-empty flask.  
"No, that's not it at all," she was running out of words to defend him.  
"Glynda, it was Jackals that attacked our cargo back in Atlas. White Fang would never go that aggressive unless they had back up," says Winter, pleading for her to listen.  
"And I've seen the reports, there were Jackals found amongst the dead in Beacon, hiding in White Fang masks but all the same killing and slaughtering anything that moves." His breath was cold, the pain is lingering.

"Face it, Glynda. Your boy, our informant, is White Fang."

And just like that, Glynda realizes the mistake Ozpin and her made two years ago. "Qrow," she says weakly, her world is slowly drifting into the void of empty promises and broken vows. Lies were sung in the damp air. The echo resonated around them once more, this time, they all heard. It was the sound of screams in the flames. Death brought in by deceit. Plans set in motion, a domino effect, a chain reaction was echoing in the halls. Cries of people fleeing their fate, running to their last breath but none can outrun the crawling fingers of death. And those fingers were something Qrow was all too familiar with.  
"Don't, Glynda," the echo is the only thing he hears now. Guild and burden pressing down upon him, his duty is whispered in there air. Summer Rose's gentle smile visits his wandering thoughts, a radiance all too brief to enjoy. Then behind her smile are the smiles of his nieces, Yang and Ruby. Smiles that were denied a mother. Smiles that were denied a school, one lost an arm and both lost a friend. Smiles that he'll never see again.  
"Qrow, you don't understand," she attempts to reason, the guilt hangs heavy around her neck like necklace of iron and stone.  
"Then help me understand," Qrow walks up to her, cornering her beside the door. His glare tells of a man who is done listening, tired of words and is now searching for action.  
"Why do you defend him, Glynda?" Winter's patience grows ever thin. She examines door and holds her rapier, ready to run down that tunnel and skewer Devin's neck.

"It's because we already knew," she says weakly and she sees the look of horror in his eyes. Winter freezes where she stands. Treason bites hard at the back of her neck, numbing her in her steps. Glynda couldn't continue, the disbelief in her friend's faces held tongue. Qrow shattered like glass, the heart never could hold too much pain. "I'm sorry we never told you."  
"W-why?" he utters in despair.  
"It was all three of our decision," she explains.  
"Even Ironwood?" Winter cracks like the last shards of ice on the dawn of spring.  
Glynda nods. It hurts, it hurts everywhere, "We didn't tell you because of Summer, Qrow," she finally admits it. Qrow fractures where he stands, the light fading from his eyes and is replaced by flame.  
"You knew?" he lets out a question, one that needs no answer. Glynda nods again, guilt chains her down but it unleashes Qrow.

"Glynda, how could you?" Winter questions her resolve.  
"We needed someone from the enemy, someone they didn't know. All of us, any of us, if they just even get a whiff of any of us, we'll lose their tail," she kept herself stern. Qrow was breathing heavily, collecting himself like a bull ready to gore.  
"Didn't you think of the risks? The consequences of putting someone that close to the circle?" her eyes harassing Glynda's, glaring at her with alarm. Qrow leans back and lets Winter take the lead.  
"We never let him in, believe me," Glynda meets her sights with her own. There is serenity in looking into another's eyes, their soul does not lie in those mirrors, there is only truth. "He was just a spy, our eyes in the underworld. He goes where we can't, he risks his life so we don't have to risk ours."  
"Then why didn't you tell me?" he mutters in the dark, the flask in his hand but he refuses to drink.  
Winter and Glynda stop their bickering, Winter backs off a bit letting the headmistress answer the restless Qrow. " We couldn't because we knew-"  
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" he demands of her, his visions blackens and his heart burns a bright furious fire once again, it hungers for everything in its path and right now, Glynda Goodwitch is there.  
"Because we knew this is how you would react!" she retorts back, holding her ground.  
"You're damn right this is how I'd react," he pushes her back against the wall but she manages to regain her balance before slamming into it. "If you're asking to me to play house with the bastard that killed my friend, that White Fang scum that left one of my nieces in a coma and the other one missing an arm, then you're better damn well know this is how I'd react!" His reason was thrown out the window. The only thing that stayed his arm from swinging his scythe at her was the fear that it wasn't gonna miss.

"Ex-White Fang scum," Devin corrected from the other side of the door. Then they all turned their attention to him and saw the round door opening slightly with Devin's head peaking through. "It's Ex-White Fang, friend." Then he enters their side again and levels with them.  
"I'm not your friend," declared Qrow as he tucks the flask back in his shirt and drew his scythe. About to lunge at Devin with a slash but before he can cut him down for the dog he is, the sly jackal drew something from behind his back. The envelope tucked behind his belt, the one with all of Winter's photos in it and it made her brow furl over her forehead in question of his actions. He backs off a little, raises both hands in the air in surrender.

Qrow steadies his hand, baffled by the little jackal's actions. Then without warning, Devin reaches for his pocket but they all stutter, unable to react as he pulls out his scroll and immediately raising it into the air again. Then he opens up the envelope and places the scroll inside. "Here," he says as he tosses it to Winter.

She opens it instantly and finds nothing.

She flips the envelope over, partly ripping it open. "Where are they?" she demands, infuriated by what she has in her hands.  
"Check the scroll, maybe you'll find them there," he answers, still raising his hands to keep Qrow's at bay.  
Winter folds and unfolds the empty envelope and she had her fill, she takes the scroll and activates it open. Light flashes and phone starts working but another thing is in her way, "What's the password?" she asks as politely as a pissed off Huntress of the Atlesian military that is about gut a little black jackal where stands could.  
"Heart and Feather," he replies with both hands still high, it's actually starting to tire him. "It's, uh, bad I know but it's mine." Winter hastily types them in, unlocking the phone. She scrolls diligently, looking for every application, every program where he could hide the photos. And she found nothing.  
"They're not here," she complains.  
"That's because I don't have any," he admits and she is stunned. Qrow and Glynda also had their jaws open and speechless, "It was a bluff." He smiled at her and only then did she realize that the truth was harder to swallow. "Believe me, if I could have it any other way, I would."  
He then turns to Qrow and meets his wary glare. There are no words that can soothe the man's searing pain. But he tries anyway, "I'm sorry for your nieces. I wish I could have done anything to prevent it. I understand if you hate me for that."  
"Yeah, thanks," he tried his best to hold down his anger, his hate from seeping through his lips.

But it wasn't enough, "But that's not the only reason I hate you," his words were tainted with seething hate from his murderous glare. Devin stands back, he avoids gripping his pistol in the hopes of preventing Qrow from escalating things further.  
In the back of his mind, he knew what he meant. It was a long forgotten memory that could be remembered in the blink of an eye. Clear as day, it burns like poison in the wound. It was not a memory, it was a ghost. And he had prayed for so long for it to go away. He looks back at Qrow who is already clutching his blade tight at his side, "I know," his words, a warm dirge whispered into the night.  
"I'm not letting her slide. You know who I'm talking about," he says, a cold grim reminder.  
"I know," he replied with pouring sorrow. And then he steps forward, undaunted and daring. And Qrow was likewise, he didn't flinch nor blink. Both men just stared each down each other's eyes, finding nothing but hollow reflections as if looking at one-way mirrors. "I won't let it slide either," he repeats with a stern face but Qrow sees it as another empty promise.  
He walks up to him, narrowing the little jackal in his vision, distrust in his glare, "And what will you do?" he questions him cynically.  
"After this," he points out the tunnel, "one last thing, then I'm good."  
Qrow smirks at him and scoffs, "Then slice your head right off your shoulders."  
Devin returns the grin, "I'll even hand it to you on a platter." He nudges his head towards the tunnel and advances, turning into a jackal and scampering off ahead.

Qrow breathes out deeply, stress leaving his system like pressure blowing out the steam pipes. Winter walks up behind him and gives him a pat on the back. "Qrow," suddenly her words were warm to hear. He turns and sees a concerned Winter gazing at him, "Was he the one that killed Summer?" agony in her eyes but he looks away to the floor, looking for solace elsewhere.  
"I'm not sure," he replies with a blank face, "did you know?" he turns to Glynda who is leaning on the wall, caught off guard by his question.  
"No, we didn't," she tells him, matching his eyes, "we're as unsure as you are."  
He nods softly, accepting what bitter truth is laid in front of him. "All I know is he was there when she died," the hall was cold and was getting colder with a draft coming from the tunnel.  
"Qrow," Glynda approaches him nervously, "I just want you to know that once this is over," her tongue was caught by regret, her jaw shivers as if forcing something out. "I'm with you, I'll be with you in the end." She goes up the door and stares into the abyss, "I know he was Ozpin's decision and I trust his decision fully but once this is all over, I'll help you seek justice for Summer."  
Qrow smiles at her and nods, there is relief in remembering who your friends are. "I'll help too," he felt a heavy hand on both his shoulders and found himself in Winter's grasp with a smile to pledge herself to him, "I'll do what I can and knowing me," she leans closer to a whisper, "that's a lot."

Again, he is smiling at them. Something he rarely does nowadays. Winter pulls him into an embrace and he gives her a soft one. He looks at Glynda who was left out and extends his hand. He offers her to join but she refuses, it is just her way. But he persists by reaching out further and rotating his wrists to invite her more. She rolls her eyes and finally grasps his hand and he pulls him into their small circle. Trust never had a sweeter moment.

Then there was a dog's whimper in the night.

They were alerted, startled by the immediate cry. The draft turned to wind and it blew hard through the tunnel, putting out Winter's torchlight. "Devin!" gasps Qrow as he draws his scythe. Glynda readies her crop stick and creates light from it, Winter unsheathes her rapier. The abyss was taunting them, its mad whispers pass through their soft ears like a ghost suffering in limbo. Then they heard the faint footsteps but they sounded more like sprinting. Heavy feet rushed through the tunnel, it was getting softer and softer. "Stay close," said Qrow as he took the lead. Winter and Glynda warily followed behind him. He creeps towards the door, inching as silent as possible. Holding his scythe with both hands, he walks low and slow. Listening to the abyss as it flaunts itself before him but all he hears is the echo once again. Wailing and yearning for him to join it to wallow with it in its mourning.  
"Ssshhh" hushed Winter, "Do you hear that?" a fading musk fell heavy in the air.  
"Yeah, Grimm," Qrow moves forward, he could barely see in front of him but without a doubt was waiting to swing his blade.  
"I do," Glynda erupts into concern, she listens and listens as does Winter but all they hear was weak snarling and growling.  
"Easy now, they're gonna come for us," Qrow is still wary but prepared. The echo resonated again in the room, screams of people on the festival grounds, terror swarming them like locusts on the field. And now it holds him tight in its shadowy grip. Creeping on his neck, cold fingers in the dark giving him a grim reminder of lives he couldn't save.

"Qrow!"Winter awoke him from his stupor, a silent shout in the halls. "We have to go now," she has taken the lead and is running through the tunnel with Glynda lighting the way.  
"What are you doing?!" he begrudgingly howls at them as they fade from him in the distance. "We don't know how many there are down there!" He follows them anyway, watching his sides at all times. The tunnel was long yet narrow, no more than three people could fit at the same time but that didn't stop the three from sprinting as fast as they can.  
"Can't you hear it?" Winter glances back in frustration at Qrow as she continues running as if racing someone to the finish.  
"Hear what?" demanded a confused Qrow.  
"The Grimm's footsteps," answered Winter stubbornly.  
"Exactly," he answers with an abashed confidence. The only thing that could make this night worse was if they were walking into a trap. "Didn't you hear that? It sounded like thudding, there could be a whole pack of 'em down there."  
"No, you don't get it!" she talks back at him, disgruntled that he couldn't or wouldn't understand. "The steps, they're fading."  
"What?" suddenly Winter picks up the pace, Glynda tries her best to run beside her to illuminate the way and Qrow follows with careful sprints, caution never did hurt that much.

"Qrow, they're running away with from us," Winter replies sadly, painting a grim image in Qrow's mind. The creatures of Grimm are fleeing from them, for once they respected a losing battle. But they weren't retreating without snatching away a spoil of war.

And then there was another whimper in the night, high-pitched and distant.

"They're taking him with them!" Glynda sprints forward as fast as she can. The floor cracks beneath her heels, the wind brushes fiercely against her face. All she could do was ignore it.  
"Hurry!"Winter rushes Qrow who is lagging behind. He picks up the pace, his hands grip his scythe with crushing anticipation. In the ruins flowing with Grimm, a rescue mission is a death sentence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
They night was long but the tunnel felt longer. An endless road with no other directions to turn to, there was just forward. And in the long road, hope hangs by a thread and a friend is rapidly slipping away into the darkness. They had no choice but to keep moving forward. They quicken their tiring legs, charging blindly into the hollow, narrowing halls, watching for the slightest silhouette of movement, listening to the faintest sound of wolves and jackals.

Beowolves snarl at a distance, fighting over spoils. A jackal struggles but he fights, he's losing but he fights. Gunshots ring in the distance.

"We're getting close!" Glynda pushes on, her wand lights the way.  
"He's not gonna last much longer, come on!" Winter overtakes her, rapier in hand she charges into the shadow like a fierce blizzard, raw and raging. The aroma of hate and malevolence fills the air like a cloud of smoke, fogging anything from view. It was a cloud she was all too familiar with. Their feet thumped the ground like warhorses' on the field. Every step was one of desperation. She breathes in as she ran and now finds herself far from Glynda's light but it doesn't deter her.

It's almost funny really. Only a few days ago she would've wanted to behead the smiling jackal. She never did notice him among her father's staff. He was just another sellsword Jacques hired to keep his business ventures safe. She refused to help him and pursued her military career and yet on the few occasions she was generous, he was there. Caught her at the right time, misplaced her and her father's narrative. An officer of Atlas working for the Jacques, further festering the corruption in Mantle. _Careless,_ that's what she thought to herself at first when Devin gave her that call and she saw her hard-earned legacy crumbling down before her eyes. And yet now, she sees something else.

The call of duty didn't bring her here, fear played a bigger part. Fear drove her back to Beacon, fear made her lose control, fear stayed her hand. But fear isn't why she remains here even after he tells her the truth and after he's gone. With that fear gone, her life is secure, the narrative stays the same and yet she didn't turn back. Instead, she's running down the narrowing tunnel, chasing after Grimm. It wasn't duty that summoned her here and it wasn't fear that kept her from walking away. It was clarity that called her to action and clarity that had her saving the man mad enough to ruin her future. She faces in front and is no longer suffocated by the pitch black darkness. Starlight seeps out through a small hatch on the ceiling at the end of the hall. But it was bright enough to reveal what was below it, what was in front of them. A familiar black shade and fiery-red eyes glow in the shadows. She saw it trying to climb up the hatch.

And it saw her.

The Beowolf howled into the night, ferocious and hungry. It goes down on all fours and begins running towards her at full speed. Its claws dig deep into the damp floor, lunging itself closer to the Atlas officer. She holds her ground and straightens her stance, back poised into a perfect arc, her heels click and she points her rapier's tip onto the grimm. She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of the charging beowolf, snarling in its wake. One deep breath to soothe the nerves, a gust of air brushing up against her hair, carrying it in its passing. The beast closes in, she can smell its stench reeking of vile putrefaction. Her grip tightens, her muscles tense as she waits for the moment.

And then the hatch blew open, three more beowolves enter fray, gnawing and biting. And the one in front of her swiped quick, its paws swung at her fast.

But she was faster, the stench of its breath dulls her nose for a moment and it is the moment she needs as she bends over and ducks its swing. Its sharp claws touching only tendrils of her silver hair. One step back and a swift pull back of her hand she thrusts it to the monsters neck with a snap of her wrist, the rapier's steel skewers flesh and in an instant, the creature fades into dust. But more were coming, hungrier and angrier. The first one charges from the left then jumps onto the wall, using it to lunge itself faster at Winter. Again, she was faster and she parries its claws as it stumbles onto the ground. One ran down the middle and launched itself to her aimlessly.

Too easy, a step back and she lifts up her rapier high. And as the beast ends its flight, she drives the blade deep into its skull and piercing whatever brain matter something like that had. The last got an open window. The proud officer was still in her poise when it started swinging left and right rapidly. A shower of jagged claws rained upon Winter, she kept her stance as best she could but was left to parrying the grimm's attacks. The steel doesn't penetrate easily on Grimm's bones, they are tough shells that weapons can't get through easily. For once, it was pushing her back with its strikes. Then suddenly its right paw is locked to her blade. She tries to yank it back to her but its steel is stuck to the beowolf's shell.

And it knows this. Its left paw pulls back as Winter continues to regain her rapier. The grimm stands its ground, an immovable object holding a think blade tight. It sees the opening, a struggling huntsmen fighting in the darkness, trying her hardest to keep her stance. Subtly it moves, twists its body for a blow, gathering momentum in its free limb until finally, it has pulled back and then it swings.

But Winter presses a button on her weapon and a small dagger pops out from its pommel instantly into her other hand. Light to the touch, she grabs it and immediately stabs the grimm in the eye. Its swing stops overhead and it freezes in its feet. Paralyzed in place, Winter turns the dagger, making sure it does as much damage as possible. Flesh squishes under the metal and finally the beowolf turns to dust and fades into the night.

She lets out a breath of relief, it was too close a call. Then she looks up and sees the night sky, barking and gunshots are still being heard in the distance. She walks forward to the hatch, it wasn't too high and it had a small lather attached to the opening. She tucks the dagger back into her rapier and as she takes the first step—

The sudden bang of a shotgun blows behind her.

She turns around in fear, caught off guard by the gunshot but she sees Glynda still holding her little luminescent wand while Qrow was holding the massive shotgun that was once his scythe. The creature of Grimm lay at Winter's feet, lifeless and then it faded into dust, slowly carried by the wind. "There," she points at the busted hatch.  
"Well," he closes his eyes, preparing himself for what's next then looks at her with great sincerity. "Lead the way then, officer," his starlight smile is blessing. She smiles back then presses on.

Outside, a band of grimm swarm an injured Devin, his back is aching and his vision blurs. Ursai and Beowolves hover around him carefully as he swings his dagger aimlessly at them. Their low growls hummed like a growing thunder. Their fangs hunger, blood lust in their eyes, and his arms bleed from exhaustion. "Go ahead you bastards, make my day," his wit is beginning to bend but it never stops him from cracking that grin against the enemy. He already took out two of them but not without wounds, and those wounds are starting to weigh down. He fiddles the dagger in his hand, matching the beasts' ferocity. They snarl at him, he snarls back. He always was a good liar, always was good at keeping up the charade, to stall. But not this time, he can feel his limb about to give. The blade in his hand is getting heavier by the second. He can't follow their eyes anymore, can't meet their gazes with his own. He can only hope that he's faster than the rest of them. A beowolf flinch at the corner of his eye.

And then another leaps up from behind him.

He turns too late, its front paws block out the moon as he moves to swing his blade but its jaws are wide open, about to bite down his face.

"Duck!" screams Qrow from the distance, he aims for the beast but waits for the little jackal to hear him. He didn't wait long. Devin crouches down and tumbles forward, moving below its belly as it misses its bite. Qrow pulls the trigger, it was light as a feather as always. The shells burn in the air, singeing the coal black fur of the grimm around Devin. Their screams rose higher than the stars, agony brought by dust and gunpowder. They scatter for a moment, their circle cracks open and in comes Glynda and Winter charging like white angels. Bringing down the fury of Beacon on the stunned monsters.

Winter didn't fight, she danced in the field. Each strike sang of grace and each step beautifully choreographed. She arches her back to dodge an Ursai's swing and in her hand, her rapier delivers a blow to its belly, slicing it wide open. It yelps in pain, its guts spill like wine as it tries to put it all back. And with one last swipe, she severs its head clean off and it slides down its shoulders as the grimm turns to dust.

Glynda was quite the opposite. Her moves were quick snaps and throws. Her crop stick does all the work, launching grimm into the air as if she was swatting flies. The ground crumbled before her, taking the beasts with it, crushing them beneath boulders. A fierce, disciplined stance mows down the grimm like floodwaters over the mountainside.

Qrow catches up to the breathless jackal, a beowolf sneaks up from behind the pack and attempts to pounce at Devin. His gun reforms the scythe and then he swings it so hard that it cleaved the beowolf in half from mouth to tail. "Get up, idiot. We have your back," he laughs with him as he fights off incoming Grimm.  
"What took you so long?" Devin laughs back, sticking his dagger between an Ursai's eyes.  
"We weren't sure if we wanted to save you," his scythe founds an Ursai's skull, sundering it in two.  
"Well, I guess here's my answer," he scoffs as he turns the dagger into a pistol and opened fire the Grimm.  
"Devin!" Winter calls his attention, "Which way?" she asks as she stabs down the throat of a beowolf.  
"Over there," Devin nudges his head and points to the Amity coliseum. A towering arc was before them, shards of dust lay about the base, making for them an entrance to the coliseum. "We need to go now." Devin shoots through the wall of Grimm blocking their path. A few go down but not enough for an opening, and Qrow sees this two.  
"Allow me," he gives Devin a quick bow and then rampages through the grimm. His scythe found its mark. Grimm flew into the night, whimpering in their deaths as they dissipate into clouds of dust.  
"Here, quickly!" Devin calls on Winter and Glynda. They shoved back the remaining grimm and ran for the entrance. Qrow carved their parth, while they protect Qrow, downing every approaching monster, not letting one come into their way.

Shards of glass littered the ground under them. They ran as fast as possible into the inside as the monsters slowly ascend into a horde. They hopped over debris and rubble as they treaded through the ruined floors of Amity coliseum. It was a rough way, the toppled down seating areas created rocky grounds. Some obstacles were just steps while others were walls twice their height. Qrow leads them through the ruins. He was agile and swift as he walked over the high walls and cuts down straggling grimm, further carving the path for his friends. Devin follows behind, he shifts into his jackal form because is too weak to fight any longer. He's still able to pick up his pace alongside Qrow, his eyes remain vigilant. And then his head perks up, he catches wind of something, a scent of metal and steel. Winter and Glynda ran behind, Glynda uses her semblance to disassemble and reassemble the walls and the floor, barring out the pursuing grimm. Winter makes sure she has space, her rapier pierces through skin and flesh as the grimm are unable to find a way to Glynda, most of them were being left behind.

Then Qrow spots a balcony to the right, it was wide open, perfect for the escape, "Hey, Ice Queen!" he calls on her irresponsibly. But she was in the middle of fighting and was not in a good mood to react.  
"WHAT?!" she screams at Qrow as if breathing fire down him.  
"Toss me the keys to your ship!" he asks as politely as he could.  
"WHAT?!" and he gets the same response.  
"Maybe we can make it out of here alive," he catches her attention and Glynda covers for her to look. In front of him was a sky full of stars, the balcony was still intact.  
She pauses for a moment, and then realizes to look for her keys. She reaches down her coat pocket and the sound of metal dangle on a chain. "Here!" she says as she hurls them at Qrow who clasps his hands, ready to catch it.

But it was caught mid-air by Devin.

"What are you doing?" Qrow scolds him, the taste of freedom leaving his lips.  
"We can't. Not yet, we still have to find Penny," he reminds them as he drives his dagger on the side of a lunging beowolf.  
"Are you crazy?" Qrow wasn't sure if crazy would have been enough, profanities might have been a better word choice. "Grimm are swarming in on us! We're not gonna last an hour here." He slashes to his side and an ursai falls dead.  
"I only need ten minutes," he refuses to move, stubborn as always.  
"That is pointless, you don't even know where to start looking for her."

The Devin holds out his hand and in it was a metallic arm of Penny Polendina.

They stare at him for a second like he was holding a holy goblet in his palms. Glynda finishes walling out the grimm from the outside, a final block of cement and it crushes the a beowolf trying slip through. Then she joins the rest in staring at the arm. Qrow couldn't believe it, speechless he looks the sly jackal in the eye. Disbelief hangs by his neck, dragging him down from what he's looking at right now. But then he smiles at him, pride hints at his smile and he is looking to meet Devin's eyes in agreement.

But then the little jackal refuses to meet his.

He takes notice, Devin starts to fumble around him like a system losing control over itself. He paces around rapidly, his gaze spacing out into the ruins. "Devin?" Qrow goes down to him, scythe still in hand and vigilant as ever to incoming Grimm, fortunate that none have come yet. "Devin?" he asks again but the jackal just begins to circle around like a lost sheep. "Devin?" he asks one last time.

And the suddenly, he jerks up and looks at Qrow's eyes blankly. And that's when Qrow saw the deep blue glow from his eyes yet it showed an instant determination from the little black jackal. "He's in the trance!" he screams to his teammates who look at each other for a moment before setting their sights again on Devin.

Devin just walks past Qrow, he tried to stop him but Devin just handed him the arm and pushed him away. He climbs up the mounds of rubble, smoothly scaling off the sides of the debris like a spider crawling on the walls. Each grip propels him further up and over the rubble, he can see Penny's missing limbs on the other side. They pull at him like magnets on metal, drawing him closer and closer. He reaches the top with ease, the parts are just a few yards away, hidden under the coliseum's collapsed floors and behind an army of beowolves that have spotted the entranced jackal.

Qrow spring in his step, he cuts down one last approaching beowolf as he sees Devin on top of the mound, more grimm closing in on him from all sides. He runs as fast as he could before the little jackal begins his descent. The grimm have chosen to ignore Qrow and set their sights on easy pickings. "Glynda!" he yells as he turns his scythe into a shotgun and fires away at the approaching beasts.  
Glynda hears his call and immediately leaves the newly made wall and runs to them. Winter stands behind her, trying to wrap her thoughts around what's happening. But then the horde of grimm behind the wall pounded heavily on the crumbling concrete. She backs away, combat ready but uncertain of how much she can fend off. Glynda spots her ready to make her last stand but she disagrees, "Come here!" she tells Winter as the wall weakens and she gladly runs to the good professor's side.

Debris and concrete pieces begin to fly across the room, more and more grimm converge behind the wall, forcing their way in. Glynda and Winter run to Devin who is now surrounded on all corners. "Qrow!" Glynda screams as she waves her crop, he reshapes his weapon again. One by one, blocks of rock and rubble emerge from the mound creating makeshift steps for Qrow to use. And he eagerly rushes in, one hand carrying Penny's arm and the other swinging wildly at the pouncing wolves. His steel meets darken flesh and they fall like flies.

The wall behind them collapses, more grimm flood the room. Winter and Glynda already climb up the stairs and catch with Qrow but Devin's eye only had one prize. He jumps down the mound and lands safely on his feet, instantly the wave of Grimm fall upon him like rain. But instantly, Qrow and Winter follow him without a second thought. Glynda stays last and she restarts her work fast. Shattered columns and broken floor tiles float around her, her semblance takes command of them and carefully she stacks them once more. The grimm sprint as fast as they could but she reassembles the room like it was hers to toy with. The ground beneath them quakes, the ceiling collapses upon the horde, revealing the timid starlight. They shine on the ground before her and something catches her eye, something orange.

Under the mound, Winter does not lose her grace. Each parry is followed by a strike to a wolf's neck and each dodge turned to a beast's beheading. Qrow scoffs at her but matches grace with ferocity. He chops down rows of grimm like lumber. His scythe cleaves them in half, it's almost as if they hand themselves to the two willingly. Qrow and Winter carve a path among dusting corpses of dead beowolves as Devin leads the way to the next part.

Light shines upon cold steel in the distance, below a large piece of the ceiling are two legs, saved only by sheer luck as the large chunk was stopped in its fall by being balanced by weapon lockers. Devin's eyes spark and then he runs to them, blindly and enthralled. "Winter!" Qrow directs her to him as another troop of grimm converge in front. And she moves swift in the wind, like a hawk diving down the sky, an unwary rabbit in her sights.

A beowolf opens its jaws before Devin's face, another aims for his knees, and one more pounces on his back but this one had her rapier impale its heart and pierces out of its chest. Winter rages on them as she jumps instantly onto the next, driving her blade through its mouth, choking it in Atlesian steel. On her left, her dagger finds the temple of another beowolf. It falls, writhing in pain. Swarms upon swarms envelop her and Devin, and swarms upon swarms fall before her feet as she bursts like a cyclone, cutting down all in its wake.

Devin picks up the legs, a light smile on his face but then he smells the foul scent in front of him and in comes charging another beowolf.

And it meets a whirling scythe thrown by Qrow as he sprints with all his strength away from the chasing mob and back onto his weapon. But the wave pushes him back further and even repels Winter's fierce stand. They retreat back beside Devin whose sights are set on another part.

But when he turned, he went left and walked slowly into the wolves.

"Stop him! Quick!" Qrow tells Winter with chaos in his voice. She immediately wraps him in her arms but then parts them with a burst of strength and shoves her back to a cornered Qrow.  
"What the hell's he doing?"Winter asks while the blind jackal still moves forward, carrying Penny's severed legs with him.  
"He's finding the lost pieces," was all that he could say as they watch the wolves close in once more. Qrow tries to stand up but he finds himself fending off the waves of grimm before them. Winter is cornered with him but still she stands by his side, grace and ferocity mingled in the battlefield. And they try again to carve their way into Devin's guard, to protect him as he completes his mission.

But as the wolves snarl and bare their teeth on him, a boulder rolls down on them. It came from the side, tumbling into the horde and crushing everything in its path. "Winter," Glynda comes down to them, carrying something with her while amassing huge boulders and throwing them into the grimm's ranks. "Do you still have the keys to your ship?"  
Winter was caught by surprise, she reaches for her pockets and inside her coat but was able to present it to Glynda without trouble. "Why?"

Then Glynda lifts up what she was carrying, Penny Polendina's disabled head.

"We're done here," she gladly declares as she turns around and begins tossing beowolves like pebbles on the waters. "I'll give us an opening, protect me and Devin." Qrow and Winter nods, and then the three charge forward, clearing every last beowolf. Hungering jaws ate cold steel as Qrow swung his scythe with ease, its edge tearing apart blind grimm. Winter sticks them through the skull, skewering whatever brain matter they have. It always surprises her how they still twitch when her rapier finds their temples. She never thought they'd have something like that, and even if they did, she thought she would've been used to it by now. Glynda walks past both of them, the path they carve is now wide enough for her to race against Devin who is still making his way to the last piece, Penny's torso. A few straggling beowolves stand in his way and then they lunge at him, fangs wet with hunger. But they felt the weight of concrete floor tiles as Glynda uses her semblance to launch the monsters back, pinning them against the wall. And finally, Devin picks up the last piece of Penny Polendina.

And he knocks himself out of the trance.

He turns around and sees the other pieces with Qrow and Glynda, he looks at the professor and she smiles at him proudly. He smiles back and then she nods to Winter before pushing out a new hole in the wall. Winter and Qrow fend off grimm as the four back themselves to the hole. Devin stood at its edge and it was a long way down.

"Jump!" screamed Winter as she held her rapier.  
"What?" questioned Devin as he faced her with a confused expression.  
"I said jump!" she repeats as the grimm advance.  
"Yeah, I know what you said I meant what the hell?"  
"Oh for god's sake," Qrow lost his patience and pushed him out of the hole. He fell seven-stories and thought of nothing except for when he'll stop falling. Regret didn't meet him again this time, his tired mind found no relief in it. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited. Perhaps it would be quick.

And it was as he fell through a small hatch and into metal floors. His back landed poorly, and the heavy parts of Penny didn't help. But nevertheless, he was fine. Fine until he set aside the parts and saw Glynda Goodwitch falling onto him. "Oh, f-" finishing was all he wanted and was still denied of it as she landed on his belly, pushing out all the wind in his system.  
She gets up on her feet, throws Penny's head to the side and starts pushing him to the side, "Move, move" she orders him frantically as the Winter drops in next, landing with her feet apart and immediately moving towards the driver's seat. Qrow follows in his bird form, gently perching on the ladder before transforming back to his human form and putting the last piece along with the others.

He looks back, Glynda looks back, and Devin sits back as Winter pulls a couple of levers and activates buttons. "Hang on," she says without waiting for anyone to hang on and shifts the airship's speed to its maximum, flinging the three of them to the back.  
"Slow down, Ice queen," shakes out Qrow through his vibrating mouth as the speed pins him to the steel wall.  
"I can't!" she answers swiftly, "not risking Nevermores on our tail not now. She pushes the pedal down further, on the camera screens to her right, two Nevermores give chase to the ship. "Not today," she mutters to herself as she waits. The airship was within the birds' grip, they fire bolts of sharpened feathers first but Winter evades them with masterful handling. But they were still harder to shake off as they extend their talons.

"Come on, come on that's it," she whispers to herself again, maddening words from a mad woman."

"What are-?" Devin realizes what's happening. He's sees the screens, he understands that they are utterly and completely screwed.  
"Closer," Winter mutters to herself again, she can see the Nevermores closing in on the airship's back, talons jagged enough to rip through steel. "Closer." The birds unleash their bladed grip, about to lock on the ship's roofs.

And in a blink of an eye, she steps on another pedal and opens two panels at the outside of the ship. Both had small cylindrical containers with volatile green liquid. She opens a case on the side of her control desk, she flicks the switch inside it and then it furthers spiral fast into the sky as the containers blew heaves of fire upon the nevermores, burning their feet and repelling them off. The airship travels a hundred miles in a few minutes. It flew over Vale and over the woods of the Emerald Forest.

And then it slows down, loses the burst of speed it had.

The three of them were peeled off the walls. They felt like posters glued on the side of alleys and tunnels, speechless and dazed. Winter gets off her seat, a day's work for her and a night's adventure. She sets the ship into autopilot and it glides in the air smoothly. She goes back to her friends to check up on them with a wide grin on her face, "Are you all alright?"  
They groan at her, first time experiencing that much pressure from speed. "Ah, yes. Very fine, luv," Devin answers first, the world spins around him and blurs the colors out before his eyes. "We're all peachy."  
"That's good to hear," Winter gives him a smug face before she extends her hand on him and on Qrow. She pulled them up and they almost fell as soon they stood on two feet.  
"Let's not do that again," Qrow whispers to her before retreating to a spare room to sit. Glynda chose to rest on the floor. Deep breaths and warm air, she closes her eyes and finds peace within the confines of her mind. Rest was imminent for her and never has she found another cold steel floor as warm as this.

Winter smiles on Devin, a thousand words behind that smile and a thousand words she could not say. Fortunately, he could. "Well," he tries to look away from her eyes but his spinning world permits him otherwise, "I believe some apologies are in order," he clears his throat as attempts to keep his balance, neither of which truly helps. "I'm sorry, for tricking you to come here."  
She just scoffs at him and gives him a pat on the shoulder, "You don't need to be sorry for me." Her words were light to hear and pleasant to the skin but she wasn't finished yet, "However," she ends it there and looks at Qrow sitting on her bed drinking himself to death. Devin understands, he nods and then takes in a deep breath as he looks to face his deepest regret.

Qrow rests easy sitting on top of Winter's bed. The flask in his hand is nearly empty, save a few drops. He intends to savor those drops, especially as he sees Devin Jackal at the corner of his eye. "Well, we're done here. You got what you want."  
Devin leans on the wall, he reaches for his back pocket and pulls out the crumpled box of cigarettes. He takes one out and begins smoking calmly as if sharing one with Qrow. "Yeah, guess so." He lets out a smile at him but he doesn't smile back.  
"Now what will you do?" he asks half-heartedly as he takes one quick sip.  
"Now, I'll fix her in my ship once we find safe ground to land. Then I'll ship her back to Atlas." His eyes fixate upon Winter's personals in her quarters but he limits himself to just eyeing.  
"Huh," Qrow accepts, even for a moment, he remembers that all of this is just Devin trying, trying to mend the wounds. But that won't come easy, the echo was weak now and he would like to ask, "And what would you do after that?"  
He scoffs in reply again, knowing the clever crow's next answer, "My last mission."  
He sighs in reply, one of defeat and acceptance. If that was what the old headmaster had planned, then he still must put faith in him. "Team RWBY, eh?" Devin nods and he shrugs. "Listen, you may not be the first person I'd trust with this job. Especially considering that two of my nieces are in that team," he pauses, the heat within him rising to a boiling point but he cools down easily with a sip of his flask. The bitter taste becomes a warm feeling in his belly, "but I have to ask—"

"Will you tell them or should I?"

The words dug deep into his soul, a ghost clawing its way back into the deepest cesspits of his memory. Regrets he gave no time for were now resurfacing out into his being. "I don't know," the idea of the confrontation rips apart his heavy heart.  
"You better," he reminds him.  
"I'll handle it when the time comes."

"I bet you would," he takes one last sip of the flask and empties its last drops on his tongue. Qrow stands up and walks to him. "Ruby and Yang are precious to me, hope you understand that."  
He shrugs, "I do, maybe I can only imagine it but I do."  
"Let them have it gently, alright?" he tells him face to face, blank eyes stare into empty ones as Qrow pats him on the shoulder.  
"Hopefully, I don't get there before I take them to Mistral. Altercations like that are what gets you killed on the road."  
"Yeah," he replies softly, half laughing, half concerned. "But don't blame yourself if you can't get on their good side," he heads out the door. "Doubt you'd get along with either of them, especially Yang."

He lets out a short laugh and a sly smile, "Oh, I think we'd get along just fine."


	6. Screaming Angel

In the small town of Haruka, three days after the attack on Mistral ….

Smoke was rising from the town's fading ember. Buildings were torn down brick by brick. Taverns and Inns were raided for supplies, blacksmiths were robbed of iron and steel. An unforgiving gale swept through the streets of Haruka, a pack of wolves preying on sheep. Daylight came like a solemn eye watching in horror as it illuminated the streets littered with bodies, the blood stained houses, and the lone man crawling his way from the town square. His legs were mangled beyond use. And the only thought that could plague his mind was the narrow tunnel of survival.

He never expected this, any of this. When he was assigned to Haruka two months ago, he was already picturing two months of watching livestock and simpletons coexist in a newly-built and smelly settlement. But now he couldn't even picture himself ever using his legs again as he dragged his way out of the slaughter behind him. A few men like him were lucky enough to barely survive the chaos that ensued but weren't lucky enough to endure the killing blows as the raiders swept through the town, like locusts on the field.

So he crawled, he crawled as fast as his arms could carry him. Squirming at a snail's pace, passing by broken shields and shattered swords, clambering through shrapnel and skull fragments. But where else could he crawl to? The dirt road leading to the capital city? The hollow pass to the mountains? Or the weeping willow tree at the edge of town? He did not know, he only knew he had to crawl away. It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't going away unnoticed as a massive axe hanged over him, like a pendulum in motion, inching closer and closer by the minute.

Jin Jackal's steel is dyed a dry crimson, it's seen enough battle for one night but it hungers for more. Mistral's military has gotten soft, softer than he remembers or perhaps he has gotten stronger. It has been years since the Armistice between the Wild Faunus Clans and the Mistral council, and it seems that the comfort the kingdom enjoys has bred weakness. This small town is a testament to that.

The light breeze grazed upon Jin's short, light-golden hair, a gentle caress in the bloody morning. Flesh and innards were dripping off his thick leather armour. The coming dawn illuminated the clan's sigil on his back, The Devouring Jaws of Clan Jackal. He follows the pathetic worm before him as it crawls to its safe space. Fleeing desperately into the haven of the willow tree. As his men cleaved and cut the remnants of the town guard, Jin's axe hovered over the injured man, hungering.

And his hulking boot presses down on the man's shattered foot. There is no more scream for pain, no cry in fear. Just a hopeless attempt to claw a way out as Jin lifts his axe over his head and swings with strength that could cleave mountains.

The sunrise greets a graveyard, a town succumbs to war and ruin.

Jin stands by the willow tree, enthralled by the long array of leaves flowing from its branches. A mellow yellowish-brown complements the meek sunlight. Memories he is not fond of but the weeping willow is a reminder. A constant voice in the shadow and the cold, awakening his true purpose for everything does. All the battles he had to fight, all the alliances he had to forge, all the people he had to lose.

Everything he did was and _is,_ for his clan, his pack.

It has been more than twenty years since he lost his mother, Ividja , who always professed deeply her love of the forests of Mistral. Though she does not hunt with the rest of the clan, she was often found lost in the woods, chasing after butterflies and foxes and rabbits. "One with the woods," the clan called her, but there was another reason for her penchant of the forests. It was something she always told him and his brother, Devin, when they were younger, old tales that the clans used to believe in that have faded into obscurity. _"Dwata"_ , he recalls, or rather, her voice whispers into his ear. Old spirits it the forests, faces hiding behind trees and underneath lakes. Creatures that were neither god nor man but were made by the God of Creation long before mankind was born. Mischievous things, playful yet deceitful and many of them toyed humanity and faunus alike. Yet they still lived by laws given to them by the God-brothers, laws that fortify their place in the world, laws that Jin would have remembered had he paid attention to his mother's tales.

It has been a year since his father passed away. Logge the Fire-eater they called him for when he charged against the armies of Atlas, he was always in his wolf form and he broke down their ranks with his mighty jaws as they tried to shower him with gunfire. Ruthless and unforgiving he was in war but stoic and fair he was to the clan and his family—until Ividja died. Jin will never forget how he wailed in the shaman's tent over her cold body. They found her in the lake by the mountains near Windpath, torn and ravaged by a private army from Atlas. Jackals cried into the moonlight that day, howls echoed through the ears of Mistral. Logge grew mad and relentless, even on his own sons, shaping them through fire and steel. Training became torture, hunts became raids, and though Jin shone through his father's training, Devin did not and the little jackal received the brunt of the Fire-eater's fury. So many times he remembered how close Devin was beaten to death by the madman, yet so many times he remembered remaining at his side—even now, he still does.

It has been six years since he executed his brother for treason. Both of them were raised in the era of war but Devin was the one who had barely spent his days with their mother. He was always the one that paid heed to her tales of gods and dwatas but cannot remember her too clearly. Her smile, her voice, her caress were all vague memories hidden away in old lockboxes. But surprisingly enough, he did not grow cold and bitter, even with how his father treated the little jackal. He was warm and sweet, especially during their days with the White Fang, he was often the one that gave everybody smiles. Small banter in times of defeat and plenty of horseplay in times of victory. Though he was forfeited of one, how he reminded Jin of their mother was what made him regret that day all the more. For he was too much of their mother in times of war and it made grow too soft that eventually, he left the White Fang and Clan Jackal to live among the humans in their kingdoms. And this devoured their father's soul and drove him even madder. There was a hunt, Jin remembers, it wasn't brief and it costed him more friends than he could count. It was a misty memory but when they finally caught Devin, who else is there to carry out the sentence but him. But what made that day unforgettable wasn't how he flayed the back of Devin's neck and ripped out his ribs one by one. It wasn't the tears in his eyes as flesh dripped from his hands to his feet. It wasn't how he watched as they lifted him up dangling on the branches of the willow tree with arms wide open. The Screaming Angel it was called, a sacrifice through execution. No, what embedded that day in his mind was how Devin smiled at him where most would scream their hearts out. He remembers the little black jackal's laugh, the grin forever etched into his soul.

"And that's the last of 'em," delights Corvina Tempest in her small voice. The men turn their heads and see the little brown-haired girl in a thick, black blouse carrying a pike three times her size with a corpse still impaled on top. She holds on to her weapon with both hands and tries to shake the thing off. It plops to the ground almost immediately then the pike folds upon itself, shrinking into just a tiny baton in her hand before putting it in her back pocket.  
"Though there wasn't much to begin with," said a hulking middle aged woman walking out of the streets with her men. She was Yelena Briarlock, Lady of Clan Briarlock and she wore thick hide armour and a grey combat skirt with her axe and sword sheathed on each side. Just like many others, she carried a large, round wooden shield on her left arm which she wielded with ease. Her hair was a wooden brown and was braided into locks that went around the tiny antlers on her head.  
"I do disagree, big sister," sneered a scrawny man behind her. He had shorter braids but longer antlers on his head and wore simple cloth with a leather vest to protect his chest. "Me and Darby stabbed plenty, didn't we Darby?" he snickers.  
"That we did, Boc," his twin emerges beside him, he also wears the same outfit but his locks are entangled in his antlers yet he cares little of it. "That we did."  
"Oh, please you lot stumbled around in the fray and threw those tiny peckers you call swords the moment it began," remarks a stunning young woman. She has short golden hair and cat ears on her head and wears a bright red armour with golden linings drenched in blood. She wields two sickles which she sheathes back to her belt. She was Ember Khayyam, Lady of Clan Khayyam, she bears a more feared name known among the Clans.  
"Slander! Lies and Slander!" shrieks Boc as he points angrily at her. She just laughs off at the bony man with the warrior women beside her.  
"Stay your tongue or we'll stay it for you!" Darby threatens her with a swift wield of his blade.  
"Come and try, bramblehead!" she answers with both sickles in hand and her warriors step up with her. Jin Jackal just sighs in front of them but will rather just let them burn each other out with empty threats and pretentious macho bravado than interfere.

"Everyone be quiet!" a woman's voice thunders in the morning as another one lands in place. She comes in flying down with great white wings and wearing scaled steel armour. Her blade is smooth iron and her shield thick shark hide. She has pale skin, short hair, and serrated teeth and she bares them upon the twin brothers and sends them cowering behind their sister. Ember remains unfazed.  
"Just shallow bragging and empty threats, Darya. Nothing more," Ember declares with a grin as she puts her blades back. Darya eyes her deeply.  
"Yes, the cat hisses when it cannot win," sneers Darby who is met with Ember's swift turn of the head and squinting sights.  
Jin lets out a deep breath, breaking from his trance. "So, how does do you fair Clan Mako's first raid with us?" he asks already expecting approval.  
"Hmm" she begins with a deep pondering. This raid lacked in many aspects but also opened her minds to new worlds, "it is different than raiding merchant ships along the coast. More costly but more entertaining.  
"I pray you haven't lost too many men," says Yelena as she eyes her brothers down, "I know I have."  
"It was just a couple big sister," pleas a cowering Boc.  
"Nothing we can't replace in a day or two—or three," snivels a shaking Darby who receives the brunt of Yelena's judgment.

Jin pays no mind to the arguing siblings and turns to Darya with a steep curve on his brow, "What about the outskirts? Any news from Gravelsnout? I don't see any of their men here." His words are snide and doubtful.  
She shakes her head but Corvina props up like a delighted bird hopping about and raising her hand, "It's as you said, those snotty humans tried to escape through the woods leading to Mistral city," she says with a tiny, snickering voice.  
"Hmph, as you said, the Gravelsnouts rounded up the stragglers," remarks Ember with a sharp yet proud smile.  
"Spread thin as their ranks may be, they still proved useful," agrees Yelena Briarlock.  
Jin gives out an unimpressed yet satisfied expression and nods in agreement, "Very well, send for Gravelsnout. Tell him to round up the survivors," he asks Corvina who jolts up and runs away in a second.

But as she leaves, a messenger arrives wearing a familiar white mask lined by bright red marks. He had a black hood and dark clothes plated with bone white armour. The White Fang messenger was met with the coldest glares from the soldiers and a raised brow from Jin Jackal.

"Why are you here?" a quiet statement, a soft chill before the winter rages.  
"I'm sorry, Warlord Jackal," the man catches his breath and calms his thoughts, "I have news from Brother Adam—"  
"Speak," he permits with utmost courtesy.  
The cowering man gulps down hard. Courage is a hard virtue to come by these days and bearing dreadful news to the man they call The Wolf, well, that takes more courage than anyone can find. "T-The White Fang, sir Warlord. They failed the attack on Mistral."  
"What?!" a roar echoes in the woods of Mistral, sundering trees and sending bird to flight. A wave of gasps and disbelief ebbs through them for but a moment. Then there is anger among the bickering and whispers, ignited by failure, cemented by affirmed expectations for the young new White Fang High Chieftain.  
"Miserable wretch!" screams Boc.  
"After everything we've done for him—" says Darby, "and he still fails?"  
"Someone more useless than the bramble-heads—that is surprising" Ember's smirk is met with quick looks from the two brothers.  
"How?" is all Jin musters, holding back as hard as he can.  
"Huntsmen, sir—" the man tries.  
"But we have thinned down Mistral's ranks. There shouldn't have been enough to push back an attack of that scale, especially with our allies," argues the Yelena.  
"Not from Mistral, Lady Briarlock but from Vale," Jin squints at him, thinking profusely. "And there were reinforcements that came from Menagerie," he informs him with light steps.  
"Ghira" the wolf mutters to himself, realizing crucial failures on the White Fang.  
"I see. So the Albains failed as well." Jin lets out a long sigh, it wasn't news of failure. It was a wake-up call, something he was afraid would come knocking at his door. Years ago, Adam showed promise to his father, Logge Jackal, in the raids on Atlesian caravans and supply trains. Though being merely a splinter group back then, Taurus and his men were heavily supported by Clan Jackal in their operations, with each success, he gained more of their favour. And when the fall of Beacon was orchestrated, it was the clan that supplied the men, the weapons, and the propaganda. All the way until Adam's ascension to High Chieftain, Clan Jackal stood behind him, they invested much in him and awaited the day they could reap what they sowed. But he was a bad investment, and Jin could not stomach bad investments.

Still, it doesn't mean he can't recover. Just a minor roadblock, a quick detour before engineering new plans, new stratagems to follow. Rinse and repeat.

"Fine," he gestures to the Briarlocks. "Bring forth the traitor, we'll try him by the willow tree." Cheers of undaunted obedience erupts from the clans, reinvigorated by the Wolf's words. Yelena turns to her brothers and signals them to fetch the traitor in chains. "Ember," Jin continues, "take your people and search every building, turn this town household by household for any remaining survivors. Bring every damn human here," Ember grins, Darya follows and with their men they scavenge the burned town, eager to feed their blades and axes once again.

"And you," he looks down on the messenger, "tell Adam to meet us by the Mangrove's road near Camp Titanfall," an order that saves the White Fang man's skin.  
"The one north of the great lake, past the city of Windpath?" he stammers but intended to ask humbly.  
"Yes," and a humble answer he receives, "We'll meet you after we finish what we came for here," the man nods nervously, "Go!" Jin shoos him away and off he flies with his tail between his legs.

The sky beams a humble blue hue as grey clouds approach that late autumn morning.

Cheers begin to erupt from the back of the crowd, the people gave way as Boc and Darby drag a young frail man in tattered clothes by his arms. His hands are still in chains and his reluctant feet scrape away at the ground below but when he sees Jin Jackal's waiting glare, they begin to push away and resist, like a rat fleeing when its tail is caught on the hinge of a trap.

A small crowd followed behind, prisoners held by the clans. Led by Clan Khayyam, Ember and her warriors whipped and pushed them around like cattle until they presented themselves before Jin the Wolf. Barely a few soldiers in the crowd's ranks, mostly women, children, and the elderly all ragged, filthy, and wounded. Another group walked beside them, also captives. But this one was held by a round, hulking boar of a man with thick, dark skin and sharp tusks protruding from his lower jaw. "Porto Gravelsnout!" Jin welcomes him with wide arms and he responds with a wider smile. "Did I not say this would be a worthwhile raid?" he chuckles.  
The boar-man shoves his way through the lines to embrace the proud Wolf, "Indeed you did, Lord Jin. My men haven't seen a raid like this in months!"  
"And there will be more to come," he smiles as he gives him a pat on the cheek before walking back to the willow tree.

Boc and Darby hold down the traitor before the tree who is still quaking in his knees. A rat eyeing down its captor as it squirms on all fours. Futile and almost pitiful for Jin Jackal to look upon had he mercy left to spare. A slower pace, like a wolf eyeing his toy, "What's your name again?"  
A thousand scenarios played in his head but none of them had a question, "What?" he tried to reply.  
"Your name, brother," calm like the grey sky, "What is it?"  
"W-what?" he repeats, a silent squeak that the wolf heard loud and clear.  
"What kind of name is Wwhat?" he looks at the Briarlock brothers who snicker at his words. "Do you speak English, Wwhat?"

"W-w-what?" he squeaks one last time before Jin drives his boot deep into his belly.

"ENGLISH YOU STUPID RAT! DO YOU SPEAK IT?!" he demands like a snarling dog as he swung his massive axe to the man's side. Embedding it on the hard ground, much to the amusement of the clansmen with him. People laugh aloud and bang their shields and chests as Jin put on a display.  
"Y-y-yes" the man coughs out as he feels last night's red wine dinner coming out.  
"Then what is _your_ name?" he demands again, straight to the man's face. "A simple question, all I ask." He paces around, the crowd cheers his name.  
"Pe-petey," a hint of air slivers through his about-to-be vomit-clogged throat. Petey's diaphragm wails in pain, breathing becomes heavier by the second.  
"What was that?" Jin lends an ear to the aching man, more than he deserves.  
"Pe-petey, sir Jackal," says Petey before turning to the ground and regurgitating what looks like hollow bean shells and digested bits of liver.  
"You know why you're here, Petey? Why you stand before the clans now under the willow tree?" his massive hand almost the size of Petey's face as he flares his finger at him.  
"It was becau—"  
"It was because you were caught and chained and caged like wild animal!" he growls, mad as a dog and impatient as a wolf.  
Petey is in dismay, when he heard the gunshots and ringing of swords, he pictured his salvation close to his grasp. So he begs, "I didn't mean to—"he tries but sees a hounding Jin circling around him like a wolf closing down on its prey. "My patrol was defeated, I had no choice but to surrender"

Then Jin's expression was shrouded by a dark cloud. A storm brews in his thoughts, raging violently in that sea of regrets and convictions. His mother whispers and his father screams, an endless cycle of conflict begets a hand full of fury that reaches for his massive axe and upheaves it from the ground. "Wait, no-!" Petey pleads but Jin ignores it and when the axe transforms into a shotgun—

He fires it behind his back, blowing up one of the survivor's heads into a scattered pulp of brain and skull.

The survivors scream and quiver at the sight of one of their own brutally shot at. "Aw, goddamn it," complains Porto as he was the one covered in the fleshy bits of a man's former head, trying his best to scrape and wipe away the blood from his clothes. The corpse falls forward, triggering another wave of shrieks from the survivors. Children cried, the clans cheer, Jin kept his back turned and his eyes fixated upon the tiny man, unmoved.

"Do you know the Creed, Petey?" he whispers down to the man who has pissed himself long ago.  
But the shaking man had no other choice but to answer. At this point on, there are no right answers anyway, "T-t-the what?" he perks up his head, a glimmer of hope sparks desperate curiosity.  
But the wolf stays his temper and shakes his head before turning around to face the clans. Silence clouds them all, anticipating his orders. His boots drive heavy into the ground, dust scatter beneath his feet. He signals one of his clansmen before walking up to Darya who watches with time shattering vigilance.  
"You do the honours," he whispers to her and she subtly pops out a surprised expression.  
A thick-bearded, dark-skinned man in heavy leather armour walks up to them carrying a large wooden box. He hands it to Jin who opens it immediately in front of her, inside are an iron-clad glove with finely honed fingertips and knuckles that can cut clean through flesh, a heavy squared metal hammer with its sides still smoothed clean, and a ceremonial dagger with a bone-plated hilt and serrated blade still dried with blood. "You want me to do it?" she asks reluctantly but in the back of her head, she cannot fathom the pride in carrying out the tradition and takes all of the tools out of the box and into her large scaly hands.

"Carve an angel out of him," Jin's words forces the panic out of Petey's heart.  
"A Screaming Angel," Darya smiles and he nods back with simple eyes.

"Wait, please! Don't do this!" Petey instantly stands up and tries to run at the two Clan leaders but is stopped in his tracks by Boc and Darby who subdue him by the shoulders. "Please!" he cries out, tears erupt from his eyes like fountains, "Please, I had no choice," the brothers begin to carry him to the willow tree. He's still struggling from their grasp. Darya follows slowly, the glove on her left hand holds the hammer and the right holds the dagger. Still, Petey begs, "Please, they killed everybody in my group. All my friends, my clansmen, I did everything I could," one last try, one last time.

And for a moment, the Wolf turns his head and he was given a second. Just one second of Jin's priceless time, "If you did, you wouldn't be here right now," and it was a second that shattered him into a screaming mess of despair.

The brothers pull back harder, the man is driven mad by grief, kicking and screaming pleas that are neither Jin to give nor his to receive. They force him to his knees, the ground is jagged and unwelcoming. Petey fights and squeals like pig in the slaughterhouse as Darya wastes no time and makes a small incision on the mark on the back of his neck with the bladed fingertips. Then she pulls back the skin and slides the jagged dagger down his flesh and flaying huge chunk of his skin from his back.

A cry of pain echoes like a symphony. Each slide of the blade is welcomed by cheering clans. Jin Jackal paces back to his men and the other clans, his dead glare sends captive citizens to curl up into their loved ones and families as they are forced to watch a man flayed alive before them. More of Clan Jackal run up to the three carrying with them ropes and hammers and nails and hooks. They toss ropes over the willow tree's branches and secure them with hooks hammered to the ground. And while Darya carves out Petey's back from his mark, they tie knots around his arms and legs tightly and carefully, don't want to pull on his flesh too much.  
"Watch," the wolf barks the order and silences the roaring crowd of clans, "and Listen."

They lend their ears and pay unwavering attention. Every clan, every man, woman, and child—everybody.

" _He_ is Marked," he begins, a low moan under the greying sky, "As are all of you. The Wolf's bite is embedded on his neck as it embedded on yours." He points a sharp finger down the man, everyone's eyes flare with judgement. His words drown the man's screams like howls in the night drowning the singing forest.

"That Mark is not given! That Mark is not earned! Our elders kissed him on his Naming day as your elders kissed you." He waves his hand around the crowd, hundreds, if not thousands, raise their chins high, their eyes gaze upon a heaven-sent angel for them. A messiah in wolfskin—and his name is Jin Jackal.

"That Mark is duty, etched on skin and carved on bone!" shoulders back, chest out and his fist pounds hard on the leather armour as his howls match the shifting breeze. "Do not mistake that Mark as a trophy you bear or a medal you wear. That Mark binds you to the clan—every piece of you," a faint whisper, a grim reminder.

Petey wails like lamb in the slaughter. The serrated blade slides smoothly through his spine and chips off parts of vertebrae. It's both a miracle and a curse that he hasn't fainted from the pain yet. The skin down his neck has been peeled off like a banana and the stoic leader of Clan Mako begins flaying his back open, the dagger digs lightly into his flesh, careful to avoid hitting organs or arteries, keeping him alive as long as she can. Then the incisions are made and she begins peeling off the skin, opening his back like book. "Tooth and nail! Grit and wit, bound to the clan from your Naming day to your last breath! Remember who you are-" then his voice calms all of a sudden, like a quiet sea below the passing storm.

"And who do you think you _are_?" a solemn air engulfs the clans. A moment to think and rethink, to dig deep for lost answers for questions buried away long ago. But still, they remembered.

And they thundered in their steps. Hundreds cheer and chaos surrounds Jin Jackal as his clan—and all the other clans—erupt into a symphony of pounding shields and arms and weapons raised in the air. Many answered his call, an endless ocean that echoed upon itself, drowning the surviving villager's whimpers and Petey's rib cracking at the blunt of Darya's first blow.

"Jackal!" from the back prides in his clan's name.  
"Jackals!" a woman corrects his misplaced pride.  
"Jackals in the winter cold!" another finds depth in her duty, serenity in her purpose.  
"Fangbrothers!" they embrace what they truly are.

"You are Jackals!" Jin shouts back, his voice hoarse from battle yet fierce and ferocious. "Hides thick as shields and fangs sharp as steel. Carved in battle and hardened by winters. You are not born! You are Made just as I am! Just as he was!" his points behind him. Then he turns, his glare falls upon the man whose screams are already being drowned out by the applause of his former brothers and sisters.

The hammer lands hard on his back again and Darya bends another rib backward, her hand pulls back and ready to swing again. "No one is above their clan," Jin bellows before the roaring horde. "We do not put ourselves before our Clan, even if we witness our brothers and sisters fall before us," he glances at the man behind who can no longer match his agony with tears and has been wailing for what feels like an eternity below the willow tree. "That is not what the Creed tells us."

"Dare we forget the Creed?" he throws the question and the ground shakes with Jackals shivering to their core. There are few things to fear and love in this world and Jin the Wolf is one of them.

He growls, the wolf is calm and collected. His eyes find no one, they don't need to. He knows those who stand beside him and those who don't. And the words fill his head and duty floods his heart. Thoughts of his father, his mother—and most importantly—his brother scatter in his mind for a moment but that isn't a luxury he can afford.

He looks to the pack, and only the pack, as he beckons.

 _I am a Jackal,_ _Jin begins, his men follow. An unforgotten song,_ _and this is my pack_ _  
_ _There are many like it but this one is mine._ Slowly they gathered their voices, steadily their melody rose into a harmony.  
The hammer was heavy on his exposed ribs. Blood spurted from his back and muscles were torn by her blow alone.

 _The pack is my family_ , _it is my life_ , Yelena stood with the Briarlocks in silence. Listening to the grim tune of Jackals in their finest form.  
 _And I shall serve it as I serve my life,_ Ember mutters words under her breath. Long has she known part of the creed. But those nights spent with Jin Jackal taught her much more than a clan's creed, passion under soft covers, beneath watching stars. She remembered the taste of conviction, dripping sweet on his lips.

 _And I stand behind it in victory,_ she cried and pounded on her bright reddened armour. It resounded like a war drum marching on the field of war, leading her clan—her pride—into a blaze of glory, win or lose.  
 _And fall beside it in defeat._ The hammer fell again on bone and again his cry was drowned by the Creed.

 _To serve the pack, I must live free,_ the Wolf echoed his voice ever louder against the listening trees and whispering woods. His clan matched his pride, matched his roar, matched his heart.  
 _Never to be bound in chains,_ the shackles upon Petey's wrists tightened as a small pump of adrenaline pulled back at the chains.  
 _Never to be trapped in a cage_ , the men did not give him the room, they had to let Darya work as smoothly as she can.  
 _I live free or die_ , Angels weren't easy to carve.

 _To serve my pack,_ the words began to pass through Yelena Briarlock, _May my blade be swifter._ A long lost song suddenly echoed upon her soul.  
 _Than my enemies before me_ , it had been too long since she laid eyes upon someone with such drive and ferocity.  
 _My shield stronger than their blows_ , it had been too long since she found purpose and will to move forward with her clan.  
 _Heart be fierce and mind be sharp,_ it had been too long since she lived. And now, she had never felt more alive.

She thunders with the clans, moved by the howling wolf in his golden fur upon the darkening sky. " _I shall hunt as a jackal,_ Gravelsnout wasted no time and erupted with everyone else, shaking the ground and the survivors to the core.  
 _I shall fight as a jackal,_ Clan Khayyam bursts like mad lions ravaging a herd in their wake. Boc and Darby shared a grin that cuts from ear to ear as they watched Petey the rat was slowly butchered.  
Jin cracked a smile, nothing could have matched his peace of mind that day. Clans united under one banner, under one goal, under one Creed. _I shall live as a jackal_

 _Or I shall die as a jackal,_ Petey has run out of screams and tears as Darya finishes bending the last rib. The shackles narrow again and she pins the ribs on the skin, securing them tightly. And yet he still lives, breathless and dazed but still alive by a thread. Then he is hoisted up into the air, lifted atop the willow's weeping branches with his back opened like book for the entire village to see.

A Screaming Angel that has breathed its last by the willow tree.

And the clans screamed and cheered and howled. A great triumph is bestowed upon them today. A village overpowered, a traitor tried and sentenced, a wolf grinning at the sight of the first of many victories.

Jin stands down and walks to Porto, Darya looks up marvelling at her handiwork. She catches a quick glimpse of Jin impressed at her first try, a swift nod from him congratulates her, though she is proud enough to know she doesn't need any. Porto meets the wolf's red eyes, squinting narrowly and sharply at them as if asking, "What do we do with them?" he shifts his gaze at the remaining survivors frozen in horror.  
 _  
_And the wolf replied, "Make that Willow wail." And the hulking Gravelsnout smiled.

"Alright! You heard the man!" he beckons at all the clans, Darya raises her head and a brow, Yelena turns sharply at the boar, and Ember smiles in delight, it is the moment she's been waiting for.  
"Nails and Hammers!" she screams at her clan and they cheer as they run back behind the yard and each grabs stout hammers and rusty nails. And when there were no more hammers to get, they picked up rocks and bricks and gave them to the other clans.

Jin walks past the crowd as the Gravelsnouts and Briarlocks begin dragging the survivors by the tree. Whimpering people are hurled and thrown about by the yard. They gaze upon the sight of a bleeding Petey above them as the Faunus push them to the tree. Darby has the first honour, he grabs an old man by his neck and pins him by the hard bark and then stabs him in the back with the long nail. The hammer fell quick and heavy, and he repeatedly pounded hard with it, laughing and snickering all the way. And when the nail was fixed deep on his back and pierced through his chest, he took another one and pinned it on the arm with the same rapid and maddening motion.

And though Jin walks back into the city without bothering to look back at the mounds of people being nailed into the Willow tree, he still finds a clean serenity in hearing the cries of pain and anguish behind. It was a mellow tune playing softly for his ears, like clear water on a warm summer day.

He stops for a moment and takes that one long breath of fresh air. The sky begins to clear again, the sun peeking out behind grey, rainless clouds. It shines its radiance upon the burned down remains of Haruka.

Another deep breath to clear his thoughts. Memories are persistent pests that cloud judgment and decision. His mother, his father, his brother are all distractions he has neither the time nor the patience for.

But Adam Taurus—now, that's someone that's deserving of his time- only his time. _  
_


	7. The Two Wolves - an old Cherokee story

_An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego."_

 _He continued, "The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too."_

 _The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"_

 _The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."_

 _Source: /the-story-of-two-wolves/_


	8. The Devil he knows

There may never be a finer and bluer day than today with cool winds sing like a poet on stage. But not for Qrow, who, in the spirit of good will (and under orders from Ozpin), finds himself waiting again for that one guy— _that one guy_ whose smirk can cost him his day. _That one guy_ whose voice can make him wanna drink himself to death, not that there is enough alcohol in the world to do just that. That one guy with that long, smug face and terribly messy hair paired with the flimsiest jackal ears. He's that one guy that reminds Qrow that his semblance truly is misfortune.

And now, that one guy is making him wait in a cemetery in the middle of nowhere.

Shallow graves with moss crawling on the tombstones. Mistral doesn't always have that flare for funerals. Maybe because only those that can afford them can be buried inside the city walls. Mostly upper class and elite types of people are honored the access of the city cemeteries with those marble mausoleums and deep, dark obsidian plaques. Dying is more expensive than living, so those who can't will rather bury their dead outside the walls, guarded only by a few men during wakes and funerals as the families' grief attracts nearby grimm. Qrow ponders for a moment, perhaps that's why their meeting at an unmarked graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps he and Devin do have something in common-a seething hatred for rich pricks.

And speaking of pricks, he can see one right now, coming out the woods. The prick's vividly dark-green coat is swaying with the wind, one hand holds on to that black beanie cap on his head and the other tightens its grip on the rifle strapped to his shoulder. He wore a grey shirt under a greyer vest where his pistol holster was strapped on. "You're late," Qrow snaps at him, visibly annoyed, the usual.

"You're early," Devin answers back, that burning smirk still one face.  
Qrow scoffs, not much use fighting it but he still does, "You're the one that said eleven, been here since ten-thirty."  
Devin shrugs and raises that silver smirk all the way up to his ear, "So what, early bird? Want the worm?"  
"Screw you," says Qrow with a hoarser voice, today must be a special kind of hell if he let Ozpin put him up to it.  
"Oh," Devin exclaims, his hands cross on his chest and he feigns a surprised expression, "you have to take me to dinner first," he replies, making Qrow badly want to reach for that flask of his. "And I don't come cheap."

Devin then lays his rifle to a gravestone beside him and Qrow didn't realize this earlier but the little jackal had this rugged leather sack strapped to his back. He took it off and held it by his side, and Qrow hears the heavy clanking of wood and metal as it dangles in one hand. But he just raises a brow and eats his words, he's expecting an explanation soon enough. That bastard always had a flair for the dramatic.

Miles of thick forests loom over the horizon with entrancing tranquility. Fresh air kisses their skin with the coolest lips as a few clouds join this sapphire morning. Sad to say that Qrow isn't enjoying any of it, "What are we doing here anyway?" But when Qrow blinks an eye with tired exasperation, he finds Devin already holding a severely used shovel in one hand.  
"Need to show you something."  
"What is it?" he asks, regretfully

"You'll see once we dig it up," he says without breaking that piercing grin.

"You've got to be kidding me" he tries to level with him, eyes looking for reason but it seems like they're lost at sea.  
And before he can speak further, Devin jabs a shovel into Qrow's chest. It was heavy on a battle-worn body, the rust scraping off into his clothes, and Devin's grin just wide in front of him. "Dove Cowan, shallow earth, unmarked grave." Then he walks his way and expects Qrow to walk the other, the wind carries the tails of their coat softly into its plight and brushes by a greatly confused crow.  
"What the hell does that mean?!" he screams without thought.  
"Dove Cowan! Shallow earth! Unmarked grave!" he answers blindly from the distance.  
"May I ask why?"  
"No, you may not," he walks an uphill path where the graves are older and the epitaphs have faded. Tombstones begin to cover his silhouette and the old uncle just groans to himself because his orders are to meet up and listen.

So Qrow wanders about, his eyes find no peace among aging headstones and thick grass, the jackal's smug smile still running amok his head. He can't find it in himself to level with him. Sometimes, Devin acts professional but most of the time he prefers to be an idiot with a plan. He of all people should know full well that the dead are not to be disturbed. But the little jackal waste no time nitpicking from an ancient graveyard like plucking off flowers from a bush, the dead don't take kindly to that.

Names on stones begin passing by his side like faint city lights over the horizon on a midnight road trip. Needless to say, he has forgotten what Devin wanted him to do. It always seems like Devin Jackal is in a whole different world. One without Salem and her Grimm, one without maidens and relics. One with old gods and wolves, and right now, he's not liking that the little jackal is at it again. He already has so much in his plate without the little jackal invoking the wrath of the vengeful dead. Frankly, he can practically hear their whispers behind the trees and stone. Already hear the scolding and the murmurs. He can hear them condemn them, curse them, impale them with pained words. The axe upon his head hangs by a thread and all that it takes for it to fall is one word, one breath—one more whisper.

Suddenly, he stops in his tracks. Something caught his eye by the woods. Something pale, he cannot make out its figure. It's no longer there when he turned his head. Although, he could have sworn the whispers sounded closer than he'd like them to be.

Devin paces on top of the hill. He can feel it in his bones, the touch of his fingers shiver as he caresses the cold soil. It was a cool morning in autumn and yet the grass was dry. Some patches were so barren that no insect crawled on it. There was no doubt about it, he could smell it in the air and feel it in the wind. This was hallowed ground and he and Qrow were about to rip it a new one.

But he goes forward, his grip tightens on the shovel and grin widens from ear to ear, "Qrow! Over here! He yells from a great distance, almost a howl in the horizon. And then he tilts his head, his ears listen closely. The whispers grow louder as they notice that he noticed.

"Good, she's watching," he delightfully with an ear-to-ear grin.

Qrow grabs firmly onto his shovel and runs back almost immediately. He's still not on board with this, despising every second of it. It feels less right by the minute. He's pretty sure that he's already haunted till the day he dies. "Did you find it?" he asks thoughtlessly as he sees Devin by the hill.

Devin turns and meets him with radiant eyes and then he takes a step to the side and shows him the grave, "Nope."

Upon the headstone the words were shoddily engraved, _Marvin Oakley, greatly missed_.

Qrow stared at him tired and in disbelief. His hand envelopes his face with shame as he tries to compose himself, "Devin," he begins, "what the hell is this?"  
Devin looks at the stone for a moment, feigning confusion as poorly as he can. "Marvin Oakley?" he answers uncertainly.  
"I thought you said Dove Cowan, shallow earth, unmarked grave," he flaunts his hands mockingly and imitates the little jackal's tone.  
"I did, but I couldn't find him. He's not here," he frowns for a moment, just a moment. "So this'll do," then he drives the shovel deep into the ground and takes out a large patch of soil off the grave.  
"What the hell are you doing?!" Qrow throws his composure away to try and talk some sense into him. "You're gonna curse us for no reason!"  
"Keep ya trousers on, we'll be fine," and with that, another patch of soil is dug up.  
"No! This is not why we hired you for. You were supposed to be our eyes and ears behind enemy lines," he screams infernal words at him, eyes ablaze and fists clenched till the knuckles cracked twice "but then you went dark for the last couple of months."  
"Course I was," he said frankly, "I was out scouring the area, makin' sure what we're up against."  
"You were supposed to look after the girls."  
"No—"he responds with a long swing of his head and a condescending tone, "I was supposed to look after them and make sure they get to Mistral safely."  
"Well, did they?!" Qrow opens his arms and gestures wildly, like a mentor baffled by the limit of their student's stupidity.

Devin stops digging for a moment and takes a moment to ponder. He nods sideways repeatedly, as if measuring the circumstances, and debating and agreeing with himself, "Yeah, yeah they did."  
"Oh, really?!" Qrow flared up and saw only red, "So, Ruby and her team didn't just get attacked by psychopath with a poisoned tail?"  
Devin blanks his eyes and swiftly says, "Coincidental, but it was nothing they couldn't handle."  
And he fires back fast, "How 'bout Weiss crash-landing on Mistral soil?"  
"She steered towards trouble, should have been smooth-sailing once they left Atlas. Even got my guy's guy killed."  
"Belladonna Manor getting attacked?"  
"Could have been worse, managed to lighten their load in me own way," he winks at him and it just pisses him off to high heavens. And then gazes into Qrow's eyes, the smug look on the jackal ever smuggier, "Propaganda doesn't spread itself." Another wink and he lets him talk again.  
"And Yang heading to Raven's tribe?"  
"That was honestly pretty stupid on her part," he says with one hand on the waist and the other gesturing on the air, deflecting all of Qrow's accusations.

"How about the attack on Mistral? Seem like you forgot to warn us about that. Pretty sloppy for our look out," he stares at him with cold eyes.

Then the wind blows a swift breath, the air turns thick and musty. Devin gazes blankly at him for an instant. The accusations are piling up and even he is running out of answers. Qrow begins to breath heavily, can't let the little jackal slide scot free. Consequences have to be sentenced and he knows when a man is hiding his guilt away. Devin places his foot on the shovel's back edge and rests his arm by the elbow on top of its handle. His attention turns away from Qrow as he glosses over the green horizon.

"Seems like you forgot my duties end once the girls are in Mistral," he answers with honeyed words and a grin, "my sights are set on the Clans now."  
And those words echoed throughout Qrow's being. Reverberating into his soul like wailing inside a cavern. His eyes shiver, unable to face the reality that it's about to get a hell of a lot worse. And for a fraction of a moment, birds forgot their songs, leaves ceased their fluttering on the winds. And in that flash of a moment, all he saw was wolves on burning fields. Shattered shields and torn banners. A predator watches from the woods, eyeing down the prey. And in the distance, war drums.

Then he snaps out of it, a quick shake and the air is thick and fresh, and the birds sing into the approaching afternoon warmth. "Why didn't you tell me?!" he spouts at Devin, scolding him like a father does to the delinquent son.  
"Because you wouldn't believe me."  
"What the hell do you mean?" eyes glare red, "you don't think I'd trust you?"  
"Thought you'd be in denial."  
"Denial?!" confused anger flares from him, "Why would I deny that some ancient, barbaric clan led by your animal of a brother is about to get us?"

Devin steps back and breaths quick but quietly, Qrow definitely did not understand the gravity of the situation, he didn't even hear the little black jackal properly at all, "I said Clans."

"Clans?" he calms down and digests it slowly but every tissue and muscle down his throat wants to vomit it back out. He wishes he didn't hear that properly.  
Another quick breath and he realizes that Qrow is finally listening, "They're gathering Qrow, Jin's rallying the other clans."  
Long inhales and even longer exhales as Qrow steadily takes it all in. "How many?" he calmly assesses.  
"Seven? Maybe Eight Clans are with him now, we're looking at at least twelve-thousand strong, not counting the pirates he employed north."  
"That's not good, you should've have told us sooner."

"I wanted to show you." And then he grabs the shovel again and raises it high in the air, and then drives it deep into the ground. A soft squish is heard underneath all the hard dirt and Devin feels the thin, rotten flesh pierced by the rusted steel.

And the predator snaps, fury erupts from its veins. From the woods, it pounces fast, trembling the ground beneath Devin and Qrow. And suddenly, there was a woman standing between them. Devin pulled back but Qrow unsheathed his weapon in an instant. The lady had pale, white skin, almost bland and void of color. She was thin and frail, her hair was as white as snow, almost translucent in the morning wind. She wore a ragged grey blouse and her eyes, well, she had no eyes.

"What the hell?!" Qrow shouts in a panic but Devin sees him draw his blade and gestures for him to calm down and put it back. Qrow mouths back, protesting what the little black jackal is suggesting. But he just replied with the same thing.  
"Calm down," he mouths again, "it's gonna be okay."

"Yes…. it shall…. be okay…. little crow," the woman spoke in a deep, slow, and howling voice, as if a thousand other voices emanated from her throat, clawing their way out of a hollow pit. "You… are not… the one I want," and then her head snaps, quite literally as bones crack with the turn, at Devin. "you desecrate… my grave… little jackal."  
Devin perks up straight and arms himself with a grin and a bow, "Apologies, Liadann. I merely seek an audience with you."  
"Honeyed words… will not… save you judgement… little jackal."  
"Good, coz I wasn't planning to anyway," he springs in his step and walks back, then he turns and extends his arms as if leading the way. "I need your help in finding someone?"  
"Finding… Someone..?" she ponders, treading carefully along the path of the little black jackal. "This is… a summoning..?"

"Indeed, it is," he answers and then suddenly Devin composes himself and spoke in a deeper voice, he opens his arm again and begins chanting but this time Qrow paid close attention but he couldn't understand what the little jackal said. "Sevoz ik ta, Liadann," a strong musk surrounds them, its scent was dust and gravel. It manifested itself into a thick fog, clouding their sights but Qrow could still see the goddess, the Dwata before him and Devin, and he is not liking it one bit. "Ina sij Kalwang Ligau," the graveyard wailed as if the souls buried it awoke, or rather, were awoken by a call. Devin Jackal stared down the eye holes of the angered spirit. Above their surface, pitch black like a night without stars. But as he went deeper, he gazed upon the watching souls beneath the shell of Dwata. And finally, he gave his request, "trebaksam hnap siyo."  
"Seviz," she howls in an equally an unearthly voice, "Dayme Seviz."

"Dove Cowan," he finally replies and then the air loses its shadow. The musk dissipates from the air and the scent has evaporated. A bright sun shines once more into the high noon and Qrow finds himself disoriented from everything that happened. Liadann stares into a green horizon, Devin waits for her to budge. He is quite sure that the summon worked, but nothing happening is starting to make him worry.

But finally, Liadann turns, torso first and bones crack, then her waist follows backwards and she heads out to the thick forest. Qrow shakes off the confusion and finds Devin behind the disappearing fog. "What the hell just happened?" he whispers roughly.  
Devin shrugs again, "Summoning worked," then he gives Qrow that half-stressed/half-relieved look and follows the pale goddess into the woods.  
Qrow grabs him by the shoulder, eyes flare with confusion and disdain, "What have you gotten us into, Devin?"  
But Devin suddenly stops smiling, his eyes are heavy and unflinching. He ignores Qrow and turns around to pick up the sac along with his rifle. And before can answer, Liadann speaks from the woods, "Come…mortals," she calls.  
Slowly losing his sanity, he faces the little black jackal again who takes out a pack of cigarettes and purses his lips around one. He reaches for the zippo lighter inside his coat and lights the stick, taking a deep breath afterwards.  
"You need to understand the gravity of the situation," he bellows a sad tune and then walks forward, following Liadann's call. Qrow is estranged about all of this, comprehension is beyond reach but he treads anyway.

The woods were damp and dark, the walk was silent. Qrow treaded carefully, his hand ready to reach his blade and take down a head- or two. Devin keeps on a straight face, he paces slowly and calmly, the cigarette butt pressed loosely between his lips. A small line of smoke rising from the burning tobacco. Liadann leads the way, unfazed by the little jackal behind her. She wishes only to finish the request and return to her slumber.

"Liadann," Qrow whispers, a faint memory surfaces from the back of his head. The name rings a familiar tone.  
"Patron of Lost Souls," Devin whispers back, pursing his lips as he takes a deep breath and lets the heavy smoke circulate his lungs. "The guide for the unburied and unnamed graves."  
"So what does this mean?" he looks at the jackal, wisps of smoke permeate into the musk of the forest. The sweet scent of green is drowned by the rough, husky taste of nicotine.  
"It means you have to trust me now, more than ever," it sounded more of a cry for help rather than a piece of advice.  
Qrow smiles then he scoffs as Devin turns his head, curious to find the old crow smile for the first time today, "I've always trusted you. We all trusted you."  
"Huh," he feels something he hasn't felt in a long time.  
"What is it?"  
"Nothing, just not used to it," uncertain and clouded like a thick mist of smoke but Qrow only sees the wisps from his cigarette.  
"It looks like you're the one that doesn't trust us."  
"Maybe," he ponders, "Thought you'd have your reservations."  
"Oh, we do," Qrow says with a sharp assurance, "It's just that you're—"  
"The only one you can afford?" he completes his sentence hastily.  
"You're the devil," corrects Qrow, this time, it's his turn to grin.

And the two men share the laugh through the dark and murky forest. Critters scatter about looking for food, both predator and prey. And Devin Jackal takes another swig of his cigarette and holds in that heavy taste of nicotine, "Why trust me then?" the question permeates through his mind.

Qrow walks forward, the sliest smile cracks from the corner of his lips and he whispers in his deep, husky voice, "Better the devil you know."  
"Than the devil you don't," answers Devin with his own grin.

They push forward, a steady pace on hard ground. The sun begins its journey west, a vibrant red sky on the autumn afternoon. The trees whisper and Liadann whispered to them. Whispers as hollow as her eyes. The wind picks up, one gentle caress over the forest and Devin holds on to his beanie cap and his coat. Lips bite down hard on the cigarette stick and then the wind picks up again, howling stronger. "The smoke," Liadann tells him and he understands, reluctantly in fact. He takes out the stick and wets his finger on his tongue before dabbing the faint ember of tobacco and nicotine out.

Another hour of trekking and the ground is starting to feel softer. Bird songs faded into the mild afternoon, the winds have ceased their whispers. Devin keeps a straight face as he walks, but Qrow bats an eye. One glimpse here, another quick look there and he's noticing the growing emptiness around them. A patch of the forest has been cleared, trees mangled and branches broken off. Faint footprints upon dried leaves, shattered armor and shrapnel on the ground. There is little doubt in his mind but then Liadann stops, and so did Qrow's heartbeat. There, before them, she presents the willow tree.

Dried blood ran down its trunk in long streaks. Rusted blades and steel were embedded on its bark. Corpses of Mistral soldiers have been mangled beyond recognition and left nailed hanging on the willow tree, claw and fang marks. And atop the branches, between the weeping leaves suspended one man. His arms extended open, dangled by battered ropes. Eyes bloodshot, staring at Earth below, like a tortured angel fallen from grace. And his back was ripped open, the skin flayed into wings, rotting flesh riddled with holes from the buzzards pecking at his carrion.

"The Clans," Qrow mutters between cold breaths. "So, this is what they do."  
"Like a swarm decimating all in its wake," Devin answers solemnly.  
Qrow lifts his finger and points to the dangling body, "Is that-?" he expected hollow words from the little jackal but he didn't even get a nod. "Dove Cowan?"  
Then Devin looks up, takes one long breath of air and sighs deeply, "That" he points up, words lost for a moment, carried by the wind, "is a declaration of war."


	9. Gods and Goddesses

A week ago, in a hilltop café in Mistral…

A faint but eager sunrise dawns upon the city of Mistral. Its hills sing to the gleaming morning, dogs stretched their limbs and roosters crow that early tune. Inside an old small café, Team RWBY spends a vibrant morning on wooden chairs and dusty tables after waking up, or rather, being woken up so early by Ruby and Yang from their soft, cozy beds.

"Blake, I thought you said this place was great," scolded Weiss who was visibly displeased with staring at cracked walls and the chipped doorframe.  
"I said it was famous, not great. Hold on, lemme check the reviews on Munchkins," she said before taking out her Scroll and fiddling at it, scrolling the contents up rapidly.  
"Floorboards feel old, the table cloth's dusty as hell, and I swear I can hear a ghost moaning about."  
"The Immortal Café," Yang shrugged, "doesn't look like its _living_ _up_ to the expectations." Then she looks at them with that sun kissed smile.  
Everyone groans but Ruby jolts up and shushes her lips, "Ssssh, don't be rude, sis."  
"Not like the old bat could hear us," remarks Weiss who is irritated from the sun rays seeping through supposedly shut windows.

"Oh, I can hear you just fine," a raspy voice whisper behind her.

She jumps up like scared cat onto Ruby's lap, who receives the full brunt of her weight like Atlas carrying the clouds on his shoulder. A short old man holding a tray full of coffee mugs and a tea cup approaches their table. His eyes were a ghostly grey, translucent against the sunlight. His complexion was a soft, coffee brown and he wore a plain black t-shirt and loosely-fitted shorts. But as he approached the four with a slow, hunched walk, they slowly saw his gummy yet sweet smile through all his wrinkles. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."  
"Oh, you didn't," Blake smirks and side-eyes Weiss who still has her arms wrapped around Ruby's neck. Ruby doesn't seem to mind, the old man has her attention. But Weiss does, and immediately jumps out of Ruby's lap and back onto her chair.  
"Yeah, Weiss was just admiring the interior," Yang sun-kissed grin pierces through Weiss' thick skin.  
"Shut up, Yang," her words are cold but her face is red hot from embarrassment.  
"It's alright," the old man pardons her with a mellow smile as he serves them each their order. Strong black coffee for Yang, a warm cup of espresso with light touches of cream, a hot cup of tea with subtle hints of honey for Blake, and a coffee smothered with lots of cream and lots of sugar for Ruby.  
"I have to admit," Blake says with disappointed in her voice, "this isn't what I expected when I saw your café online." Her mouth cringes at every word, shy to say what she really has to say.  
"How so?" the old man asks confidently.  
"Well," she ponders, the tea cupped in her hands and softly rocking with her thought, "I was hoping it had a more—vibrant—atmosphere?"  
"Yeah," Yang agrees with a raised brow and a suddenly stern expression, "It doesn't look anything like the ad online." She showed the old man her Scroll, the picture of a bright, radiant, and bustling café filled with lively tourists and livelier music is open on its screen.  
"Ah, yes the hill has stopped singing nowadays," he says somberly. Everyone's holed up in their own home and are too preoccupied to walk around Mistral. You know how it is with kids, they don't go about like they used to."  
"Is that so?" Blake asked, gripping her cup, curious and slightly thirsty. "So, people don't come here anymore?" the man nods.  
"Then why does it still have a high rating on Munchkins?" Yang exclaims, holding her Scroll in front of her and waving it in disbelief.

And the old man smiled humbly, he merely held Yang's hands and puts down her phone. "Dearie, it's best you taste it yourself," he nudges the cup towards her but pulls back, as did Ruby and Weiss. But Blake grew curiouser and takes the first sip among the team. Immediately, the gentle aroma courses throughout her veins, the warmth of the tea and the delightful hint of honey teasing her as it goes down her throat like a lover's sweet caress. She lets out soft moans without the warning nor the care for them. While the rest of the team are fixated on Weiss avoiding the old man's eyes, Blake is obsessed with chugging the whole cup like a swivel of beer. Not her usual style, but there's a first time for everything.

"Uh, Blake," Ruby leans closer to her, "are you okay?"  
But Blake lets out a soft sigh, the breath of contentment fills the air with a heavenly aroma, infectious but irresistible.  
In her curiosity, Weiss also samples her cup of coffee. With an open mind but a skeptical heart, the first gulp washes down her throat but its warmth is embedded upon her tongue. The bitter aroma of coffee airs throughout her body, cleansing her of all impurities and imperfections.  
"Woah," Yang stares at both of them seemingly melt like ice cream upon partaking in their beverages. She eyes her own cup, opening up to the idea of it. She nudges it closer, takes one whiff of it, ignores its aroma, and immediately sips it. The touch of god is instant. She doesn't know which one, nor does she care but she feels the fingers trace the outline of her skin. The tip was fire and lightning, electrifying and burning across her pale and shivering arm. She'd let out a moan if the sensation didn't leave her speechless. But her breaths became longer and longer with every slurp of the cup and each lick of her lips.

Ruby looked at the other three in curiosity. They seemed to be enjoying their beverages, so why shouldn't she. She grabs her cup and pulls it close to her lips. The air is sweet and bitter from the coffee, she takes her first sip—and then she smiles contently, the blasphemous amount of sugar doing their work for her. The old man smiles back anyway. "Wow, that tastes so good," she exclaims.  
"It was more than good," Blake exclaims, her body still tingling from the sensation, "it was heavenly." "Glad you liked it," his smile as sweet as her coffee.  
"How'd you make it taste like that?" she asks and then the rest of the team leans forward, eager to hear him share.  
"Yeah," Yang's eyes light up and she smirks from ear to ear with glee and excitement. "How did you do that?"  
The old man delights at their praise with rosy red cheeks and a humble smile as he answers them modestly, "It's in the practice, dearie. Me and my wife have been doing this for a long time."  
"Your wife?" Ruby springs into a question.  
"Where is she?" Yang sits up straight to search for the man's wife, peeking over the kitchen to see if a lady has been preparing their beverages for them.  
"Oh, she's resting in the bed room right now. She just rests a lot these days, so, I don't bother her much." He points behind him, to a shadowy corridor at the kitchen behind the counter. Yang couldn't quell her piqued interest and she tip toed a little in her seat to get a peek.

It was a short but narrow corridor. There was an open room at the end, the faint silhouette of a footboard bed peeked out of the door, barely lit only by the age-old heart monitor beside it. But the longer she stared, the quieter the air around her became. Words flew by like fluttering butterflies.

The old man talked, told stories. Blake listened, eyes locked in fascination. Ruby asked "You mean like the Four Maidens?" The old man retorted, "We have others, 'The Undying Lovers', 'The Hungry God', 'The sPidersz gould', 'Thhe tww wvz', 'Lccck—" his stories fade into obscurity as Yang fixates on the room. Upon the darkness, she makes out the foot of the man's wife. She hears a name from the others, she ignores it and it passes into the wind. The wife's complexion slowly comes to light, pale and thin, her leg is almost nothing but skin and bone. She hears another name, "Diane", and she thinks to herself that _that must be Diane, resting upon that bed_. But then she sees the blank eyes move in the shadows, staring.

There was another, a lady in the corner. Just standing—and watching. She can make out her eyes but their color is obscure from the distance but Yang can feel them latch onto the bed, deathly still and just—watching. The seeping sunlight illuminates the inhuman paleness of her arms and Yang can feel this cold emanating from her, like the touch of night falling upon a forest. Unwelcoming, unforgiving, undeterred. A wave of tattoos runs along her arm, Yang can't see them clearly, but she can see the weight of the colors embedded upon her skin. On one hand, a deep blue mingling with the vibrant orange, coursing down her elbow unto her wrists like the sunset mixing with the raging sea. On the other, roses are wrapped around her hand and are linked to green vines running up her arm. But each image, every color is so vibrant—radiant beneath the thin sunlight as if freshly painted on a canvas, A Painted Lady.

But then she turns her head and stares down the curious little dragon with piercing bright eyes and a wide, gaping smile.

"Yang!" Ruby called her attention, the little sister kneeling on her seat and waving her hand wildly at Yang's face.  
"Wha—What is it?" she stutters, regaining her senses.  
"Orfeo, here was just telling us about the stories and folklore here in Mistral," Blake gestures to the smiling old man.  
"So basically, he's some guy that buries people he sees on the side?" asks Weiss with a deal of uncertainty in her understanding.  
"More of an omen of death, one who is drawn to the dead and dying," Orfeo clarifies.  
"Who's he talking about?" asks a clearly confused Yang.  
"Lucky Jack," quickly whispers Ruby who wants to focus on the conversation.  
"Who's that?"  
"An old legend," answers Blake, "Lucky Jack was this crazy, drunk guy—kinda like Uncle Qrow but much more manipulative and he was a gambler and uh, what's the word?"  
"Swindler," completes Blake.  
"Uh-uh," agrees Yang.  
"Yes!" agrees Ruby with a spring in her step, "So, like, his entire life he just scammed and conned people from their stuff. And one day, the goddess of death and memory, named—"  
"Kalima," answers Blake again.  
"Yep! Kalima, one day she came to his house and told him his time was up. So, like thinking quickly, he, um, um—"  
"He requested to see the fabled butterfly form of the goddess as a last request. So, the proud goddess transformed into the legendary painted butterfly and fluttered around his home. But, with his house being a worn out and dusty building, Kalima was caught in one of the dangling cobwebs and suppressed from flying about."  
"She demanded freedom," said Orfeo, joining their conversation, "but Lucky Jack, the cunning fellow that he is, spawned an idea. He made a deal, in exchange for her freedom, the Queen of the dead must not come after him."  
"And she didn't like it at first, right?" attempts Weiss to which she got the affirmative nod of Orfeo, smiling as always.  
"She was a proud one, as all gods are. So, she refused but Lucky Jack didn't relent either. He waited, outlived his own lifetime and just left the Painted Lady in the web. She screamed and kicked and threatened but the man ignored her."  
"And then what?" Yang surrenders her ears and attention, 'The Painted Lady' the name echoes throughout her being. The woman from earlier, her arms were painted and her smile—it was—  
"Hours turned to days, days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and all the while Lucky Jack lived more than he was welcome to. He drank, and gambled, and swindled, and lied, until the day someone wronged him."  
"What happened?" asked Ruby, her eyes delving deep into his words.  
"He fought with the person and the fight was quickly in his favor but when he dealt the killing blow, a deep stab to the heart, his opponent did not die."

The thought of death, never was a welcome sight for the team, though it was, and forever will be, gravely familiar.

"The man writhe in pain," continued Orfeo, "he screamed for days, blood gushed from his chest with every heartbeat but the wound did not heal, it did not stop hurting."  
"He captured death," exclaimed Blake.  
"That he did, so death could not perform what she was made to do."  
"Woah," the spirit dissipates off Ruby's voice, even the towering sunlight is no longer blinding.  
"That's not all, he also discovered that nothing else died. Cattle walked around headless, pigs could not be stopped from squealing with every cut that was made, even raw meat pulsed about as if they were still part of the bodies. Imagine the slaughterhouse, wailing caves of blood and guts. Ghastly. Soon the townsfolk were haunted by the deathly cries of animals and people hurting and dying. Horrifying time, I must say."  
"So what did Jack do?" asked Weiss.  
"Well, he ran as fast as he could home and looked for Kalima, still in her web and he asked her what was happening. She told him that in her absence, there was none to guide the dead to the other side, and so, they were left in undeath."  
"Damn," the image is ghastly for Blake and Ruby but Yang started to lose interest in the story. She takes another peek into the room but now it's just a dimly lit space and the faint beep of the heart monitor.  
"He begged and bargained with the goddess, that foolish Jack," continued Orfeo. "She told him that he has to free her for her to perform her duties but, in his fear, Jack remained stubborn and ask if the other gods can do anything."  
"Did they intervene?" asked Ruby.  
"Did they care?" followed Yang.  
"Sadly, no," the somber in his voice reminds them what they're dealing with and Orfeo is just met with blank stares and listening ears, "the only one that could have done something was Liadann, patron of lost souls but she only guides the lost and the forgotten—those without graves and kin to bury them."  
"So, he had to free him," solemnly says Yang.  
Orfeo lightly shakes his head and then he smirks, as if about to complete what she had said, "She made a deal with him."  
"A deal?" asks Weiss.  
"She agreed to Jack's deal, she would not touch Jack's soul and he would free her from her shackles. And once he did, the dead died once more." He gave one wave, shaping stars in his palm. "And that's the story."  
"What?" exclaims a disappointed Ruby.  
"That can't just be _it_ ," contends a clearly interested Weiss.  
"Wait, but what about-," starts Blake.

"Did Jack become immortal?" completes Yang, her eyes widening with interest, "Did Kalima punish him for what he did to her? Did people go vegan after that?"

"Someone's excited, sis," smirks Ruby and Yang gives her this flustered and impatient pout.  
"Well," Orfeo begins, in a solemn tone, "Kalima didn't punish him, but she didn't reward him either." He lays back, tired from the storytelling but eager to finish still. "Gods are tricky things after all."  
"She promised not to go after him, right? Wouldn't that mean he would've been immortal" asks Yang.  
"She promised not to touch his soul, not his mortality."  
"Oh," Ruby exclaims as Blake stands up and starts collecting their empty cups and placing them on the counter and looks back softly, "So what happened?"  
"Eventually, he did die and he waited for the next life, whether it be damnation or salvation. But because of their arrangement, Kalima did not come for his soul."  
"He was left in limbo," says Blake.  
"How about the other one? Liadann was it?" Weiss inquires.  
"Jack did approach the sister, Liadann, but she also turned him down."  
"Why?"  
"She says that she could not claim him for he is still remembered by one more being in the world."  
"Who?" asks Yang.  
"Kalima, in keeping her side of the bargain, she did not forget Jack and was therefore wary of him constantly. She also held a grudge against Jack, unwittingly imprisoning him in his limbo."  
"So he's doomed to wander the world for all eternity," says Blake.  
"That sounds sad," laments Ruby.  
"You might meet him perhaps once your travels," spiritedly expresses Orfeo.

In an instant, the entire team is wide-eyed in disbelief. A ghost in the road is the last thing they expect to see, "What do you mean?" questions Yang, almost berating in tone towards the old man.  
"It is said that after centuries of wandering, Jack grew envious of the aged and dying. He yearned for the burials and goodbyes the newly dead received in their final moments. And he resented how each one was visited by either Kalima or Liadann, and were guided onto the next life. Some tales even said that he kept trying to gather the goddesses' attention and tried to hitch a ride with the dead onto the next world but he has still failed to do so."  
"It just got sadder," says a nearly teary Ruby.  
"What does he do, does he wait for them at the graves of people?" suggests Blake, ever the curious cat.  
"It is believed that he did that at first, and then as time passes, he began burying the dead himself, hoping that it would attract either goddess."  
"Did he?"

"No, he didn't but it didn't stop him from trying."

"Wow," Ruby lets out a sigh of relief, as if looming storm has passed.  
Weiss gives off a raised brow and a demeaning look, as if judging the titular character in the story, "Well, I think he would've at least deserved hell for what he did."  
"Whatever he deserved, all spirits deserved their rest," laments Blake, "wish he could his in time."  
"He will," answers Orfeo, "Once all the souls have been buried and laid to rest, The Gravedigger, as some called him, will find his."  
"Hmph," scoffs Yang, satisfied with the story as the sun starts to hit her eye and bright rays enter through the window. It has been some time since she found herself in this conversation and morning is rising up fast, "well, it looks like we got to go, still have a lot of packing to do."  
Ruby looks at her wrist, her fair skin glows with the absence of a watch and in a second, looks back up and nods, "You're right, sis. We still have to meet uncle Qrow."  
"Aw," sighs Blake, "was hoping to stay longer."  
"Maybe next time," Weiss pats her on the shoulder and she smiles and stands up.  
"Thanks for the time, mister Orfeo," Ruby reaches in her pocket to pay their bill.  
"Anytime you find yourself again in Mistral, little missy," Orfeo's smile is still as warm as earlier, and so was Ruby's. Yang walks out to the front door, ahead of the others.

Before she can even grab the handle, it bursts open outwards and the blinding sunlight momentarily slows her down. A man about as tall as her in dark clothing walks past her in a flash, like a sudden shadow running from the sun. She doesn't pay him heed but she notices the quick details in his expression as he enters the cafe. The wide grin on his rough tan complexion, the tall and upright beanie over his thick wild hair, and his nearly amber eyes—his smiling amber eyes that light up as he passed by her. Still, she does her best to ignore it to the fullest. The rest of Team RWBY followed her swiftly outside.

"Well that was a nice breakfast, right Yang?" asks her ever delightful sister.  
"Yeah, it was fun."  
"Well, hope we can do it again some other time," requests Blake with the subtlest expression she can muster.  
"For now, even if I'm against it severely, we got to go," groans Weiss at the thought of revisiting the frozen tundra of her homeland.  
"Yeah," agrees Yang as she presses on towards the quiet streets of Mistral, "Maybe some other time."

"Back so soon?" Jaune remarks as the door creaks open slowly, the subtle morning breeze cooling awake his freshly woken self. But it isn't the only thing that's going to shake him into consciousness.  
"Hellooooo, people!" Ruby doesn't spare her friends a moment of her caffeine and sugar infused excitement as she charges through the door in a cloud of roses and runs around the room in her merriment.  
"You seem pretty ecstatic," Jaune backs up a little in order to avoid colliding with the rampaging Ruby.  
"Is it the caffeine?" asks Ren, "Because Nora also acts like that when she gets a dose of coffee."  
"No, I don't," Nora pouts her redheaded self away from him but he just gives her a sarcastic look of confidence.  
"It's the caffeine and the sugar," corrects a stern Yang as she calmly walks through.  
"Sorry we're late," declares a confident and unapologetic Weiss, "it was a rather— weird morning," stains of regret and confusion fills her breath.  
"I kinda enjoyed it," softly says Blake, her smile lighting up the room, "we should come back again sometime."  
"We really shouldn't."  
"We can try it out sometime with the others, maybe?"  
"Agreed!" inserts a still rushing Ruby as she begins unleashing herself like a firecracker amongst the group.

The laughter and horse playing echo throughout the halls. Ruby relentlessly teasing Jaune again for his bunny sweater and Blake convincing Ren and Nora to sample the café once more with her but Weiss blatantly disagrees with the Faunus' planning. As floorboards creak and arguments break out and a vigorous Ruby Rose slowly exhausts herself and crashes into the couch, Yang Xiao Long goes out into the veranda, the plains of Mistral glow below the high noon sun like gold nuggets at the bottom of clear rivers.

The light warmly embraces her fair skin. The scent of the mountain forests is carried off by the subtle breeze. The song of the city echo upon the mountain it is perched on and yet everything is silent in Yang's mind as she looks down upon Oscar meditating on the veranda, his staff rests across his thighs as he breathes the fresh air in his serene state. "Miss Xiao Long, would you care to join me in my meditations?"  
"Pass," a stare as cold as her voice barely fazes the stern former headmaster.  
So, he presses on with his smile, back turned and eyes still closed from the meditation but his mind is opened like a new book, "I trust you found your morning eventful?"  
But those words resonates stronger within her, the rising rage and fury dissipates into the wind and she speaks and thinks clearer. "You could say that," her answer still as uncertain as she is.  
"How was your little reunion with your team?"  
"It was fine," in the back of her mind, it was blurry. "We went to this café by the hills and had breakfast there."  
"Is that all?" he senses the distraught in her voice, like a faint scent of rain in the morning the day after. She can feel his smile pierce through the sunlight but she doesn't even flinch, "You seem—"  
"Troubled?"  
"Curious," he stands up and approaches her with a light welcoming smile, as how a teacher should. "I can sense that you want to ask me of something—" she looks up modestly in attention, "ask me something." His voice still light as a feather and warm as the blue sky.  
"Alright," she takes a deep breath, airing out her lungs and mind of prejudices and biases. Clarity earns answers, and she approaches him with her game-face on. "We talked for a long time with the old café owner and he told us the local folklore of Mistral."  
"Go on," he nods attentively.  
"He mentioned different gods—different from those that you told us," doubt racing wildly in her mind.  
"I see," he looks down and generously lends his ear.  
"Gods of deaths and memories, of the lost and forgotten, swindlers and gamblers," the words ripple in waves from her mouth. "And there was Lucky Jack, \ and a butterfly god, and, and—" The words leave her. Just as many did in her past—they leave her. "And—I don't know."

Oscar raises his palm to quell her downpour of questions and steady her state, "They're called Dwatas."

"Dwatas?" Yang asks with more questions coming into mind.  
"All I know is that they're not gods, not people, they're—something else."  
"But Orfeo referred to them as gods and goddesses, he implied that people used to worship these—things before."  
"It is unclear who or what they are, many have speculated their origins but none have ever been sure."  
"We've been told about the two gods, maybe there's more?"  
"No, I don't think so," he reassures her, a stream of relief courses through his being, hopeful and soothing. As much as possible, he wanted to avoid all contact with them, and for good reason. "I am not fond of meeting any in our journey."  
"Why? Will they try to stop us," she inquires curiously.  
"No, I do agree that they have their parts in the natural order of things and not to mention that they have remained neutral throughout my quest," he warns her, if only describing them was simple, this conversation need not happen.  
"Orfeo told us that some people used to pray to them in exchange for favors and stuff, maybe we could do that?" she persists blindly and it erupts a dark memory in the corners of Oscar and Ozpin's mind. The real reason they relent to this idea.  
"It's called 'Soul-trading," the words go down roughly from his tongue like charred bits of meat. "That's how most followers bargain with the Dwatas. It isn't—recommended."  
"Soul-trading?" the image is vivid in her mind but she does not shy away from an explanation. "How would that work?" she asks weakly.  
"The followers would summon their gods or goddesses, there are different ways to summon each one," the thought of summoning one turns his stomach inside out. "They request boons and favors from them, in exchange, the Dwatas name their price, and it can get higher than most can afford."  
Visibly terrified of the possibilities, Yang catches the words escaping her throat. "People's souls." Oscar nods.

"Then I have another question to ask," her tone grows serious, her eyes are stone cold.  
"Very well, go ahead."  
"Do we have to worry about them?"  
He pauses to reassure himself, certain that they need not worry about them, there is the informant after all. "I've already assigned someone to stray our path away from them."  
"Assigned someone?" his words tap a nerve. "Another soldier?" she asks sarcastically.  
"An Informant but if all goes well, we should be at Atlas smoothly, and then to Vacuo soon after."  
"I see," she agrees, it's more of like a surrender really. The point is moot but she isn't done yet, "And this guy, this informant, will we meet him?"  
"If all goes well, you wouldn't have to."

Horseplay is not scarce in the room as the two teams clash in their debates and debacles. Blake has found herself engaged in discourse with Ren over the accurate representation of the LGBTQ community in her Ninjas of love book and its reflection on the sociopolitical climate of Mistral. Jaune was trying to calm down Ruby's sugar rush earlier but now he's carrying her through the sugar crash, literally. And Nora challenged Weiss' Ice Warrior into a wrestling match. She's badly winning.

If only days could stretch like the ocean horizons, like the endless blue skies, like the glimmering constellations of stars—they would play all the long days as if they were the last people on Remnant.

But then there was a knock on the door.

Slowly, the door creaks. Time stops for a moment and the entire group locks in attention. It opens, the soft sunset creeping into the room, the heavy stench of alcohol fills the air, and it doesn't take long for them to figure out who's waiting at the door. "Uncle Qrow!" yelps Ruby as she springs up from Jaune's arms. "Are you drunk again?" she points with a near vibrating arm, shivering from the sugar crash.  
"What?" denial smirks in front of her, "No!" if you've been doing it long enough, you get good at it.  
"Eeeep!" Blake shrieks as she jumps behind the couch, hiding from the sight.  
"What's wrong?" asks Ren.  
"Dog!" she screams, eyeing the little black critter beside Qrow who was tilting its head at the sight of the cowering cat Faunus, it seems to be just as interested at her.  
"Did you just pick that stray dog off the street?" Jaune asks, wary of fleas and bacteria. But he doesn't voice out that concern.  
"Started following me, I didn't mind," answers Qrow.  
"Aww, it's so cute," giggles Ruby, touching its soft ears. "Look at those fluffy ears," it wiggles its head in delight, matching her rhythm.  
"Careful, it's probably riddled with fleas," Qrow remarks as Ruby releases her caress and the dog puts down its ears in annoyance. "  
"That's rude, Uncle Qrow," scorns Ruby.  
"Well, anyways, it's time to pack up. The trip to Argus is a long one and we need to get there before the enemy regroups," the urgency rampant in his voice.  
The group turns around to begin preparations. Weiss unsummoned her knight and it lets go of Nora's grip. Ren fixes his hair and proceeds to his room. Jaune pats Ruby, who still wants to play with the little black dog but sadly, she had to let it go, certain that she won't see it again.

But Blake looks back as Qrow walks in and closes the door behind him. The dog itself was already a bother but something else eroded her being. She was unsure of what she saw. Perhaps it was the brew she drank in the cafe or the daylight fading behind the mountains or her own severe, gnawing dislike of dogs- but she swore that she saw it grin as they all walked away.


	10. Lucky Jack - Part 1

On old roads, long and airy, he travels weak and weary

Beneath many a green and sturdy tree of forgotten lore—

While he pondered, alone in yearning, suddenly, echoed a wailing

As of someone sadly mourning, mourning within the forest floor

"Tis a widow," he pondered, "or perhaps a lover, mourning in the forest floor-

Bidding farewell and nothing more."


	11. Death

" _Death is just another path. One that we all must take" ~ J.R.R. Tolkien_


	12. Spirits of Remnant: Liadann

Deity: Liadann

Names: Eridani (Vacuo name), Abaddon, Patron of Lost Souls, Queen of the Graveless

Domain: Lost souls, the unburied, the forgotten. In contrast to her sister Kalima, who guides those who are remembered and beloved, Liadann guides those who are forgotten and lost. One can surmise that she guides the resented and ignored, those who spent their lives in isolation, but mostly, she guides those whose bodies are not recovered and whose beloved pray not for remembrance, such as soldiers fallen in battle or hermits that passed away alone in the comfort of their homes.

Gender: Female

Sigil: Four-winged Eye

Source: royalty-free-vector/graphic-winged-all-seeing-eye-vector-20779263

Sacred Symbols: Albino Owl, White Lily

Affiliations:

* Kalima (Sister)

Liadann does not bother herself with the mundane machinations of the countless human kingdoms or the warring faunus tribes inhabiting her once peaceful forests. There are far better things to do than to meddle in the affairs of mortals who war over lands that are neither theirs to receive nor hers to give.

So she begins this day as she would any day, with a stroll over the lost graveyard. One of many that she owns. Nameless and unmapped, she paces about happily, almost dancing the day away like a young girl skipping with the cool autumn breeze through her favorite park.

Grave moss and wallflowers greet her, as they always do, this warm day. They bow in unison as she walks by, she answers her subjects with a smile. _How perfect is…. the company of…. graves and flowers,_ she asks herself, _why mortals… do not find it so… is beyond me._ Her fingers sifting through the damp stone, she hears something in the distance. Rapid breaths behind the trees but they were airless and hollow.

She leans over a grave, lowering herself to the wallflower seeping through its cracks, "Who could…that be...?" The flower sways and shrugs, shaking its white-petal crowned head at its queen. "I…do not...know…either…, little one," she bellows before approaching the forest, "let's…see."

Under the thick shade of trees even older than her, Liadann walks humbly outside her realm. The ancient woods of Mistral pay no mind to her kind yet they judge her still with towering eyes, following the blind Dwata that has entered their domain. Yet they know why she has to.

The man has been gasping hopelessly for an hour, every gulp of air feels hollow and void. His armor is split open, he lost his rifle in the battle, the wounds on his back have dried out but he can still feel the flayed skin dangling on his side. His vice grip does little to keep the flaps from reopening, he needs help and he needs it fast.

Then he hears it, footsteps sifting through the grass and dried autumn leaves. Her rough fingers reach for hard bark as she strides along the shade of the woods, the essence of the lost soul burns bright in her path. "Hey!" he screams for her, desperate and scared. "Hey! Hello?" eyes searching between the trees, looking for light steps, "Is anyone there?" looking for someone to answer, "Please, I need help" looking for that distant light at the end of the tunnel. He's looking for his miracle.

"You need not…call, Dove…Cowan… I am… here ."

He pins himself behind a tree, suddenly shaking in fear from her reply. He forgets the flanks of skin hanging from his back, that voice echoing in his head makes him comfortably numb. "Hello?" he nearly whispers weakly, "Is anyone there?"  
"Just…me…" it was thick yet hollow, like a whisper of cold air brushing up his neck.  
"Who is that? Identify yourself," he demands uneasily.

Peeking through the cover, her thick silhouette approaches. He pins his back against the tree, eyes scouring the area, hope drains by the gallon like a leaking gas tank, hollowing him out in the middle of nowhere. She inches closer, dried leaves breaking under bare feet sound like falling glass as time crawls at a snail's pace in his fear. He hides again. Something doesn't feel right about her. Her garments are ragged and torn, swaying with the cool Mistral wind. Her skin is grey, frostbitten by the blinding winter cold. He crouches down, treads lightly on his knees, his back still closely pressed against the tree, he takes another peek at the approaching woman.

And he stares down her eyes, empty and hollow sockets. Pitch black and void, like starless night skies. An abyss staring back at him.

He jumps back, fleeing with his tail between his legs. He scrambles on the ground, kicking and screaming at nothing he can get away from. "Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit!" the mud wedge into his nails, desperate fingers claw away from her. "Shit! Oh, shit, shit!"  
"Do not…be afraid..., Dove Cowan."

"W-what?" words claw out his throat. "H-h-how do you know my name?"  
"I've known… every name… ever spoken…. Every birth…and… every death…. From… the first breath… of life… to the last… siphon of… death." The cold death of winter pours out her bony jaws and envelops Dove in a cloud of reluctance. That is not easy to stomach.  
"What—are you?" he mutters under shuddering lips.

"I am… old, Dove Cowan… and tired… Had it not been duty… I would not…be here," she walks past him, the flowers in her path wither and shrunken, the grass turns dark and dry, moss creeps behind her step, and the roots of ancient trees shy away from her pale feet.  
"They're dying," the calm barely taking hold of his voice, anxious fingers try to point out what the Lady of the lost already knows.  
"They are not… my subjects." Her eyes empty and fixated on their destination.  
"Where are we going?" he looks around as part of the forest decay around them. What was once green now turned grey as they treaded through the heavy flora of Mistral. At the end of the road, a faint light glimmers in the middle. "Are you god?" he asks cautiously.  
"Perhaps…" she answers, "some mortals…consider me…theirs," the wind howls low, her garments dance to its song.  
"You have followers?"  
"I did…but… I prefer the company of flowers."  
"Oh," he pulls back, acting like he understood everything so far. "Were you looking for me?"  
"No," she beckons, the holes in her eyes light up as her head cracked to turn to him, "you called for me."  
"I did?" he promptly asks but then remembers the struggle he had to even walk after that encounter. "My team." He remembers.  
"Your team is… dead, Dove Cowan." Her voice bellows like a distant thunder.  
"So, I'm the only one left huh," he asks, barely accepting the reality of it all.

"No," her cold lingers as she extends a bony arm and points out into an open field, untouched by the shadow of the forest. In the middle towered the willow tree, its bark drenched in blood and bodies hanged around its trunk.

"W-what?" he stares, that is all he could do, stare as if gazing into the abyss. Thoughts racing, an even harder reality to digest.  
"You are dead… Dove Cowan… Your time… has long gone."  
"Huh?" he comes to term with it, as it passes through like a rock down his throat. He's dead, that's it. It's over. He'll never see his family again, his son will ask about him for weeks, his husband will dive back deeper into the pit he pulled him out of. It'll start with the cigarettes, their trash overflowing with worn out packs by dusk. Then it'll turn to the heroin bags stashed beneath the floorboards of their bedroom, old addictions coming back into light. Then comes the partying, the cheating, 2AM overdoses by the fireplace, wild sex through fogged but brightly lit windows, awkward conversations with the neighbors and even more so with the kid who's no doubt going to be asking why two men are manhandling Papa. God damn it all, "I see" but he can't accept it. The mourning of his friends, remembered only through pints over the dim bar light. Feather-light conversations that'll turn to waves of moaning and overnights at the motel, people turn drunk with jealousy and lust. That's all it's going to be, a Happy Hour legacy. He can't accept it, he can't. There has to be another way, another chance to right what is wrong.

"There isn't," Liadann creeps up from behind him, the echo in her voice stills his stressing heart.  
"I know," it's like swallowing a rock, choking on its edges. He gazes upon the sunlight fading in the horizon, pondering, "I wonder, how the wake will turn out," he laments softly.  
"There will be no wake," she replies.  
His cheeks are warmed by tears, "None at all?"  
"Your husband has… no interest in it," he turns away, hiding the sorrow beneath the fading sunlight.  
"And my friends?"  
"They too have… fallen."  
Thoughts cloud his words and memories fade into the twilight, "And my son?"  
"His father shall make him forget you… another man is already… at the door… His father… introduces him as… his new… father," she replies blankly starting into nothingness.  
"Huh," the sting of desolation is sharp upon the heart, there is no greater pain than a life not worth remembering. But he stands strong, the end has come, there is nothing left to lose. "It's that easy to be forgotten, isn't it?"  
It is saddening to watch, have she even a tinier bit more pity for mortals, she may consider action. "You despair… Dove Cowan."  
"Who wouldn't?!" he snaps at her, nearly bawling. "I don't know what you are exactly, but you seem to be omnipotent enough and immortal enough to not understand what I'm dealing with here."  
"I am not," she replies but words pass by him like wind between the trees.  
"I—no—my entire team was brutally killed in an ambush and our corpses left hanging by this stinking willow," he throws a hard kick into an old oak, barely grazing its hard bark, but it did make Liadann turn her head.

The lady stills her tongue and gazes into the blank distance, or at least he thinks she did. Empty eyes haunt at the echoing vacuum of the deep Mistral forest, she bellows a light groan and breathes out the refreshing autumn air, "There are many ways to die… Dove Cowan." The grass around her withers, "And many more to be remembered." Her hand is placid upon the old oak next to her, rough skin gently brushes up on rougher wood. "To drown by sea… or carried by the river," the air around her grew colder and mistier. "To burn by the stake… or be burned on the pyre." The area around the hand rots, reducing bark to dried wood and ash. Cowan backs up, a stutter in his step and the words blockade in his throat. Her voice was like deep mists on the mountain top, blinding about the passersby.

"There are many ways to die…, Dove Cowan and many more to be remembered… but eventually… everything will be forgotten… everything will be lost… everything always is."

Dove Cowan looks away, truth is heavier on the breaking heart and when yours is shattered, it is crushing. Twilight draws upon the horizon. The garnet ambience paints the long skies with its soft hue. Endless shadows end into darkness as Dove Cowan stares blankly upon the aged willow tree. The hooks from the ropes have begun tearing through flesh, releasing their piercing grip. His body has started to hang by a thread, the growing wind weakening it further.

It feels like such a distant memory, the more he gazes upon what he once was, the more he regretted remembering. First meetings that led to first kisses beneath the training center's sparring platforms, breakfast at tiffany's and alcohol poisoning at Remnant's edge tavern, long patrols on longer nights, candlelight dinners by the city's mountain peaks, wedding vows by the beach overpowering the crashing of waves. Remembering is easy, forgetting is harder.

No more tears to dry, the day fades into dusk, he nods, "Alright," he mutters and she turns around at a snail's pace, walking almost blindly into the forest. He follows, half relieved and half void. On one hand, it is over. On the other hand, IT is over. But in the wake of misery, he feels a spark of bliss light aflame within him. Perhaps _they_ have forgotten him but _he_ remembers the life he had well and warm. A husband, a son, friends by bar light. It wasn't that bad, he guesses. Grains of sand. And in his subtle moment of happiness, a light and morbid curiosity rises from his heart. A lingering itch that pokes at him to ask her, "So, is that what you are?"  
The lady lies silent and unmoving.  
"Death," he speaks boldly.  
"No," she speaks emptily.  
He scoffs, "Death knocks equally at a poor man's gate and at the palace of kings," he recites proudly and mindlessly.  
"I do not knock."  
"Do you mean to tell me that you have not come for my soul? In my death, you're not here for me?"  
"I am."  
He sneaks a smirk, "But you're not death?"  
"I am not."  
"Then who are you?"  
"I am your guide."


End file.
